


At a Glance

by Noctis_Valentine



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Canon Bisexual Character, Dimitri is a cinnamon roll, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fire Emblem - Freeform, LGBTQIAP+, Modern Day, Multiple Pairings, NSFW, Porn with Feelings, Shocked Gasp, Shy Dimitri is Hot Too, Smut with multiple characters, There is actual plot, Thirsting super hard for Dimitri y’all, Three Houses Hell, Very LGBT+ Friendly and Inclusive, blue lions - Freeform, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, slow-burn, squad goals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21521278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctis_Valentine/pseuds/Noctis_Valentine
Summary: One fateful encounter changes everything.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	1. The Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I have descended into Fire Emblem: Three Houses hell. There will be porn. Eventually...  
> (It was my staple genre on FF.net, once upon a time, what else is there to expect?)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

***.*.*.*.*.*.***

In retrospect, downing those last four shots had been a terrible idea.

Byleth awoke with a start, stomach lurching and head feeling as though it had been split in two. Mouth tasting distinctly like days old liquor had broiled a nondescript deceased creature into a liquefied state, and tongue weighed down and fuzzy from disuse, Byleth rose on shaky feet.

She was sure she looked like shit, judging from how she felt all over, and a quick glance across the room confirmed it.

Her dresser mirror cast a haunting visage indeed.

She was positively gaunt, cheeks sallow and sickly, indelible black smudges staining the hollows beneath her eyes— a real mess indeed. Coupled with what appeared to be the beginning stages of what could only be described as makeshift dreadlocks, and clothes so dishevelled she could be mistaken for a homeless drunkard, Byleth was the picture perfect image of a midlife crisis unfolding.

Feeling queasy aside— and determined not to punish the porcelain with the meagre contents of her empty stomach just yet— Byleth staggered on unsteady feet, looking as uncoordinated as she felt as she all but stumbled through the threshold of her en-suite bathroom.

Dawn had barely begun its ascent, but distinct hues of pink and blue touched the horizon outside of the window, light bleeding through the darkness and brightening the night sky in gradual intervals. It would have been a welcome, even beautiful, sight to behold if Byleth weren’t currently nursing the world’s worst hangover.

Sparing herself the pain of the blinding luminescence of the overhead lights, Byleth made a beeline for the sink, splashing cold water over her face as if it would help wash away the horrific remnants of her previous evening’s overindulgence. Cupping her hand under the faucet, Byleth rinses her mouth thoroughly of the taste and lingering texture of spirits; the cool liquid soothing the parched landscape of her orifice and serving to wake her a little more from her drunken, self-induced stupor.

Byleth dabs her face gingerly with a nearby washcloth, taking care around her eyes in particular. They are red-raw and swollen from hours upon hours of seemingly endless crying, and are so puffy one might think she had been stung by a bee or had an allergic reaction to something. They are bloodshot and altogether a sight to behold, making her usually dark blue eyes almost glow a vibrant indigo.

She can’t decide if they look better or worse in the dim lighting of daybreak, and isn’t at all game to turn on the light to assess the full damage.

Not yet.

She was squinting badly enough as is.

She sniffles, nose partially running even after hours of drunken slumber had passed since she had cried herself into a restless sleep in the first place. Wiping away the treacherous bodily fluid with the corner of the now dirtied washcloth, Byleth sets it aside on the tabletop and takes a moment to take herself in.

“... Yikes.” Her voice is a soft murmur, but it rings true in her head, and she clutches at her face in an attempt to soothe the migraine that had begun to settle behind her eyes.

Her hair is a veritable bird’s nest, and she has no idea where to begin untangling the clustered mess. Brush in hand and toilet within close proximity— because she knew that at some point they were to be very well acquainted— Byleth sighs.

It isn’t quite the sound of defeat, but it definitely captures the hopelessness that had overtaken her mood. What a way to start the day.

* * *

It had been a good forty five minutes spent cursing and puking when she heard the sound of the front door clicking shut. Byleth’s senses were extraordinarily sharp even on a good day, but when hungover everything was amplified a thousandfold. So while it may have seemed purposely muffled, to her ears, it may as well have been slammed shut.

Looks like her roommate had arrived home.

And here she was thinking that she wouldn’t come home at all.

Clearly the sound of her retching reverberated quite loudly, because moments later her bedroom door opened, and another body was invading her personal space. The soft-bobbed head of Mercedes peeks timidly into the bathroom, concern clearly embedded in her pretty features as she takes in the sight of her friend slumped uselessly over the toilet; brush still loosely cradled in one hand as she sprawls atop the other.

Byleth is the pallor of death and sweat beads upon her forehead, leaving her feeling clammy and all too weak as her roomie makes her way to her side.

Kneeling, Mercedes gently brushes the loose strands of wild hair from Byleth’s face, tucking it gingerly behind her ear before placing a cool palm against her cheek. It was unfair how composed she looked after a night of drinking and shenanigans.

Then again, none of their ragtag group of friends had consumed nearly as much as she had, so it hardly came as a surprise that Mercie was so unaffected by it all.

“Dearie me, you look positively awful, By.” Mercedes, whose voice is normally soft in register, seems glaringly loud to her ringing ears, and Byleth groans as another bout of retching begins anew. Mercedes rubs her back in soothing circles, holding her mess of hair away from her face as she spits up another mouthful of bile.

Patient and mild as always, Mercie helps Byleth into a comfortable seated position, prying the brush from her loose fingers and taking it into her own. Wordlessly, she begins teasing the knots out of her hair one clump at a time, gentle as she can be as she soothes her scalp with her remaining hand.

She makes short work of it, having had years of practice with her once long mane of hair, and within twenty minutes Byleth appeared a little less worse for wear.

Still shaky and deathly pale, but better for sure.

“...Thanks Mercie.” Her voice is thin but sincere, and she leans into Mercedes’ touch, body weak and limbs limp. Careful hands card through her hair, a soothing gesture as Mercie hums in response, aware that Byleth was suffering from a rather extreme case of hypersensitivity.

“You are aware that once you have recovered, you are in for an intervention, correct?” The ashen blonde quips, violet eyes stern but all the same kind in their intent.

Byleth nods, resigned to her fate. She had, after all, gotten blind drunk and disappeared on her friends last night, not informing them of her departure or eventual arrival in a safe place at all. Leaving them to entertain worrisome thoughts as she cried, got even drunker, and fell asleep a bundled heap in her own mess of a bed.

How she got home she probably would never know, because the events of the prior evening were at best a wicked blur. Some kind soul probably took pity on her and escorted her back. May good fortune forever favour them.

“I know. I’m sorry. To be honest, I couldn’t even begin to tell you how I got here. Maybe my muscle memory still stands even when plastered...?” Her voice is hoarse as she laughs. It is tinny and forced, as she tries to reassure her friend with some level of humour that she is and was, for the most part, okay.

Maybe not so much emotionally, but physically she could safely say she hadn’t been assaulted. Or murdered, clearly, else she wouldn’t be having this awful fever dream involving excessive vomiting and intensive hair control, would she?

“Regardless of the how, I am glad that you aren’t hurt. I was really worried for you, By.” Mercedes says with a slight tremor in her voice, and guilt curls its way into Byleth’s gut. She really could not have done better on the best friend front, surely.

Byleth reaches up and squeezes the hand Mercie had wrapped around her shoulders to hold her steady, and an inkling of a smile lifts at the corners of her lips when she feels her squeeze back.

“I know things have been incredibly difficult for you these past few weeks,” Mercedes starts with a little hesitation, pulling Byleth closer as she tenses indiscernibly under her arms.

“But I need you to know that irrespective of the pain you are in, it is not fair on your friends to just shut us out like that. Annie and Thea were beside themselves, and me? Well, you already know how I feel about all of this.” She pauses in her admonishment, pressing her cheek to Byleth’s as she pulls her in for a proper hug.

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are feeling right now, but you should always know that I am here for you. We all are. If you need a shoulder to cry on, you never have to ask, because we are always at your side and ready to help heal the hurt you’re enduring. You just have to let us in, By.”

Said woman shudders, emotion swelling in her chest as Mercedes runs her hand through her dark hair lightly. She has never been good with wearing her heart on her sleeve, to her own detriment, as in the end that is what forced her into this mess in the first place. Plenty of people had called her callous, cold and unfeeling, when it just was not the case. She had a hard time articulating the inner workings of her heart and mind on the best of days, but she was perhaps even more sensitive than most people because of it.

Her tendency to bottle things up and keep affectionate gestures to herself for fear of rejection had led to this.

She knew that.

She knew that, but still... did she really deserve this kind of cruel fate?

A soft whining at the doorway gave pause to their one sided conversation, and both sets of eyes were met with the sight of a large poof of a dog.

Well, puppy to be more precise, but one so large that most people would shy away, thinking it a temperamental adult. Big brown eyes, mostly white fur covered in brown and black splotches, and a distinctly curled tail wagging agitatedly from side to side. Clearly she had picked up on the mood of her owner, because she was fidgeting restlessly at the door, watching the unfolding scene with soft, unrelenting pants.

“Come here Lenna.” Byleth extends her hand, palm upturned in an open gesture as the puppy treads in warily. The bathroom smelled overwhelmingly of booze and vomit, so naturally it wasn’t the ideal place to have a heart to heart.

Never the less, Lenna trots over, sniffing her owner’s fingers before giving them a tentative lick. Warmth trickles unwarranted into her chest. Animals really were the best medicine.

“I think Lennie shares my sentiments,” Mercedes titters softly, reaching out to give the pup a good scratch behind the ear.

“She is definitely the most worried about you, that is for certain. You haven’t taken her for a walk in weeks.” The guilt once again punches Byleth in the gut, and she makes a point of drawing Lenna in and kissing her on the nose, cupping her furry face between her palms.

“Thanks for taking care of her in my stead, Mercie. I really appreciate it, I hope you know that.”

“Mmhmm, but I think it is about time you left the house under the influence of being a good pet parent, and not just for the free drinks.”

Byleth laughs at that. Of course she was right.

“And I’m thinking that time is now. Seems like she needs to go to do her business.”

Byleth perks up at that. As if in answer to Mercedes, Lenna licks the darker haired woman’s hand insistently, big brown eyes fixed to her own.

“Alright already, give me a minute to at least put a coat on.”

As it was well into the colder season, snow had begun piling up upon the asphalt surrounding their shared apartment complex. It was several degrees below freezing, and it was any wonder Byleth hadn’t frozen overnight in her very scant, not in the least winter appropriate underclothes.

Mercie helped her to her feet, straightening her pyjamas into something closer to functional before they made their way into Byleth’s bedroom, Lenna dancing at their heels. Byleth dove into her closet, pulling out a warmer pair of leggings and her heaviest winter coat, buttoning it up haphazardly as she stumbled into her warmest boots at the same time.

Mercedes merely shakes her head in apparent exasperation, before swatting Byleth’s hands away so that she could fix the buttons properly for her absentminded friend.

“You will catch your death of cold like that. Be a little more mindful please By.”

Pressing a quick peck to the blonde’s cheek in thanks, Byleth shuffles down the hallway, flicking on the overhead lighting system to light her way through the hazardous trail of clothing she had left strewn about their apartment the night before. The sight left her flustered, because it was distinctly reminiscent of previous encounters that involved inebriation and ultimately ended in mindless casual sex.

A sharp pain lanced through her chest at that, and she had to swallow an audible gasp of air as she shoved the bittersweet memories down beneath the haze of alcohol where it was blissfully numb.

Byleth straps on the adult sized harness onto her very large puppy, clicking it into place along with the leash, before unlocking the front door and toeing it open.

Mercedes sets about picking up the stray articles of clothing, smiling softly as she watches Byleth struggle under the newfound zest Lenna had discovered in the excitement of being taken out for her first walk in over a month with her beloved owner.

She looks flustered, but for the first time in a long time, she looks _alive_ , and Mercedes feels the swell of relief fill her chest alongside despair in equal measure.

How she wishes she could absolve her of her pain, but as everyone well knows, there is no cure for the broken-hearted other than time.   
  


* * *

Holy fuck it was cold.

Byleth shudders even beneath all of her layers, her breaths coming out in silver, frosty puffs and blasting her already flushed cheeks with wintry backlash.

Lenna huffs and sniffs the air, pleased to take the lead as she all but drags a barely recovered Byleth along the familiar path to the local park. Snow falls from the sky in soft patters, floating from the heavens above and descending like delicate flower petals in spring.

Except they turned to mush and left her shivering every time they made contact with the heat of her scalp, melting and thus traversing down her naked neck and into the depths upon her spine below. It felt intimate and gross to her clammy body, but at least she was fully alert and cognisant of her surroundings now.

She wouldn’t have to blindly make her way home under the influence of her impaired judgment at the very least, which was an improvement.

“Fucking hell, I definitely need to buy Mercie something spectacular for braving this weather with you, don’t I girl?” Byleth chatters more to herself than to her dog, whose ears twitch as she listens to her surroundings.

“I know she isn’t bothered by the cold like I am, but even _she_ must have felt it _a little_. Wow, it’s _cold_ , hu—Lenna, slow down girl, it’s slippery...!” Byleth exclaims, caught off guard by the sudden spike in Lenna’s pace. She’s practically pulling her along for the ride now.

Despite her small stature, Byleth was actually quite strong for her size, but she was not prepared or in the right mind to reign her rambunctious puppy in, and thus could only stumble blindly after her.

“Goddammit, did you see another squirrel wandering around or something— _really_ girl, settle down a bit— _ah_!”

In her absolute vigour, Lenna pulled a little harder than she usually would, and then she was gone; the leash pulled from Byleth’s tenuous grasp with no amount of rope burn singeing her palm with its sting along the way.

A frigid blade made of pure, unadulterated panic spiked through her ribcage as she lost sight of her baby, and before she knew what she was doing, Byleth had taken off after her; slipping across the ice laden asphalt precariously without another thought for her own safety.

This area was renowned for traffic accidents, especially at this time of the year. And while fatalities were rare, they still happened. It was still dark enough to be a major cause of concern for Byleth, because if _she_ couldn’t see her larger than life puppy, than neither could anyone behind the wheel, tired from an early rise and on their trek to their respective workplace.

Her feet thump hard and fast against the ground, her breath coming out in an endless stream of frosted clouds as her eyes search the large expanse of area around her.

Nothing. How could something so damned _big_ be so hard to spot—

A loud, startled exclamation a little ways away, just out of her sight but close enough to reassure her, comes to her attention.

Moments later, a rowdy but familiar bark echoes in the otherwise pristine silence, and Byleth takes off after the sound, footwork sloppy and nothing shy of reckless as she climbs the steep, snowy peak and looks down from its vantage point.

There, amidst a pile of sleet and melting snow, her puppy bounces in excited circles around what looks like a slightly dishevelled person, who has all but face-planted into the snow.

Byleth lets a surprised gasp slip out, sliding down the snowy hilltop and skidding to a stop about a foot away. She strides over, nearly tripping over her own two feet as a Lenna spots her, and makes a point of bounding her way and circling around her as well.

“Lenna, you naughty little shit, come here right this second!” The rare curse word slips out unbidden, but it has the right amount of peeved venom in it to stop her dancing dog in its tracks.

She quickly gathers up the leash and affixes it to her other arm, her remaining hand reaching out to help the poor victim of her precocious puppy’s great escape from the slush they had fallen face-first into.

“I am _so_ sorry, are you alright?”

There is a muffled groan as the distinctly male figure emerges from their unexpected tumble, one hand whipping through his hair to shake the remnants of mushy snow to the ground once more; the other poised beneath him as he pushes himself onto his laurels. The growing light catches his slightly dampened tresses, revealing a sharp golden halo adorning the crown of his head.

Still facing away from her, he chuckles, and it is a crisp and sonorous sound, holding no ill-will against her hound for her misbehaviour whatsoever.

If anything, he sounds wholeheartedly amused by the situation.

“Please do not trouble yourself, it is perfectly alright. I am unhurt.”

He turns then, noticing her hand in his periphery, and he reaches out, happily accepting her goodwill. Clearly her strength takes him by surprise, because she easily rights his position from horizontal to vertical, and he laughs a little breathlessly as he straightens his form.

 _Wow_. Okay. He was a lot taller than she had anticipated, standing a clear foot over her petite stature.

As he brushes himself down, Byleth takes him in in the burgeoning glow of dawn. Fair skin, sharp features, broad shoulders and fit from what she could make out beneath his large, expensive looking winter coat. Did she mention he was tall? Never had she felt so minuscule before. No one other than her father had ever made her feel truly small, but there was something in this man’s relaxed stance that told her that he was not one to impose himself on others.

Uncharacteristically for such a handsome man, he shakes his head like a dog after a particularly sopping bath, mussing up his soft blonde locks in the process before he fixes her with a dazzling, disarming smile.

She ignores how her heart stutters a little in place.

Crystalline blue eyes, like the clearest midday sky, stare down at her, holding her gaze with an allure that is mildly alarming as his lips part to speak.

“I must apologise for that pitiful display. In my surprise and your dog’s excitement, it appears that I was unable to maintain my footing. That was... undignified of me.”

The stranger is sincerely bashful, and Byleth has to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from smiling.

“Not at all, I’m the one who’s sorry. Lenna got away from me, and I should have had a better grip on her. Your fall is entirely my fault,” Byleth says with little inflection, her expression thankfully conveying her mixture of annoyance (with Lenna) and remorse (for his fall.)

Emotions were always harder to convey to strangers, but thankfully he seemed open and accepting of her sincerity regardless.

“Please, it is no one’s fault but mine. I tend to be quite clumsy; am renowned for it, in fact. This is not the first time I have fallen here, and it certainly won’t be the last. What is different is having an audience bear witness to my foolish display. That, I am sure, I will never live down.” His voice rings clear and true in the air, a joviality clearly not reciprocated by Byleth in his countenance as he rubs his neck bashfully.

He has a rich quality to his tone, one that resonates in a deeply primal way with her own, far softer voice. She is immediately intrigued and intimidated by the nuances she finds the further she examines it, so she quells the niggling sense of curiosity and instead turns her gaze towards the twitchy pup at her side.

Lenna is practically vibrating with the need to close the distance between her, and the handsome new plaything she picked up on her short stint as a runaway; salivating to such excess that she melts a sizeable patch in the snow by her front paws.

Sensing her mounting anticipation, the incredibly charming ( _and irritatingly good looking_ ) man gets down to her level, smile all sparkly white ( _with teeth so straight and perfect Byleth is almost enamoured **by** and **with** them_) as he reaches out to give Lenna a good old pat.

Cupping both of his hands behind her ears, he ruffles the fur there and squeezes her chubby cheeks, and Lenna softly whines as she throws herself at his mercy.

Byleth can only laugh incredulously at the sight. Normally Lenna is wary of strangers, especially men, and cannot help but growl and go into sentinel mode. But not with this one. No, she’d clearly taken a shine to this man, bizarre and uncanny though that seemed to her owner, and she demonstrated that by giving him some paw action, quickly followed by her rolling to expose her tummy for more rubs.

“I, uh, wow, she’s never done this before. Not with strangers, I mean. She really seems taken with you.” Byleth’s voice betrays her incredulity, and the responding smile she receives is so wholly unguarded and brilliant that she is taken aback.

Her tummy does a strange bellyflop. Interesting.

“That is pleasing to know. I am not often graced with canine companionship, so I am flattered by her approval of me.” His blue eyes return to Lenna, and he pours all of his efforts into making her legs kick animatedly under his ministrations, his gloved hands tickling her in all the right places.

“What breed of dog is she?”

“Oh, an American Akita. Believe it or not, she’s only five months old.”

The man’s head snaps up, surprise written in his expression even as he continues his ministrations.

“Whoa, I never would have guessed. She’s a big, beautiful girl, isn’t she?” He turns his best doting voice on Lenna, who reacts with absolute glee and bliss. She knows a puppy voice when she hears it.

“That she is, pain in the backside though she tends to be.” Byleth gets down to his level as well, giving her baby a soft little scratch under the chin and almost giggling when she kicks her back leg animatedly in response.

“You look lovely with a smile. Frowning does you no justice at all.”

His sudden remark catches her off guard, and her eyes hastily meet with his. The utter sincerity of his expression leaves her internally winded, and she takes a moment to just take him in. The early morning sun casts a brilliance over the snowy alcove, but it pales in comparison to him. He positively glows under it, like he was made of sunshine and happiness and positivity.

Byleth on the other hand is very much his antithesis, in every single way.

As if sensing her discomfort, the man hastily brings his hands up, as if to pacify a waking demon.

“I mean no disrespect. You just seemed very distraught last night, and I was concerned, so I came back to check up on you. See how you were faring this morning. It seems I was right to do so. You are in much higher spirits.”

Her confusion is evident, as she squints at him, hoping to recall some facet of memory containing him in it. Because she would never forget someone so charming and disarming, that was a given.

The total lack of recollection on her face is enough to have him in stitches, his laughter taking even him by surprise.

“I am sorry. It appears you do not remember me. Last night, you were in no fit state to be going home without an escort. You ran into me in the street outside of that bar you were in, crying and screaming bloody murder. I honestly couldn’t make out much of it— you were slurring your words an awful lot— but I got the sense that you were hurting in some way, so I took it upon myself to make sure you got home safely.”

Vague images pass through her hazy mind in rapid succession, and Byleth feels colour gradually rising in her cheeks, her mortification clearly evident. She couldn’t put a face to the person at all. But she remembers a soothing voice, and tender, gentle hands guiding her back to her abode. Also a lot of hysterical sobbing and equally as much vomiting. Cool hands on the back of her neck, pulling her hair away from her face; and soft words of encouragement that are too fuzzy to make out amidst the static hum of her oppressive hangover.

“Oh my god.” Byleth mumbles, horrified as she buries her face in her hands and dies a little on the inside.

Not only had he, this incredibly handsome stranger, bore witness to her breakdown as it happened in real time, but now he bears witness to the aftermath of it as well.

Well done, girl. Well done.

“I cannot begin to say how sorry I am you had to see all of— oh my _god_ I puked on your shoes didn’t I —I’m a horrible excuse for a human being— _oh my god_ —”

Her voice, normally cool and level, rises several octaves until she’s sure every local dog in the neighbourhood can hear her speaking, and she wishes the void would just open up and consume her. Save her from facing this unusual form of punishment.

He waves his hand dismissively, smile never wavering in the depth of its kindness as he holds her gaze with a steady one of his own.

“Never mind all of that. I am just relieved to see you are coping more adequately. I was really quite concerned. You were truly distraught, and nothing I said or did was of any comfort to you. I am glad you had this not so little one by your side to cheer you up— isn’t that right, cutie? Yes you are.” The blonde man exclaims with a doting smile Lenna’s way, and Byleth is almost positive that she was going to follow him home so he could be her new puppy daddy.

“If you do not mind my asking... based off of the state I found you in, one can only assume that you have been through something unsavoury recently. Pray tell, would it possibly be a loss of some sort?”

Normally Byleth would shrug off the plaintive concerns of the uninformed and uninvolved, but unfortunately he _was_ well enough informed and _very much_ involved, having had to clean up her vomit from miscellaneous articles of his and her clothing respectively.

So she sighs softly, closing her eyes for a brief moment of respite before her lips part to speak.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I recently broke up with my significant other, and it was very much so _not_ because I wasn’t in love anymore. After all, I wasn’t the one caught cheating.”

Realisation dawns on him after a moment, and his gaze turns sympathetic. Strangely, there was no pity there, only empathy and compassion. It was a nice change from the outright puppy-dog simpering she had been dealing with from Annette and Dorothea for the last month and a half.

“While all things are impermanent, one would expect more loyalty and faithfulness from a loved one in such a treasured position. I am sure he was truly a fool to have ever been the cause of such pain.”

His face is solemn, but as he reaches out to brush a straggler of rebellious hair out of her eyes, Byleth finds herself transfixed, not minding his touch as much as she thought she should have.

“Well actually, _she_ had been having an affair with her best friend behind my back for over six months,” Byleth begins with a coy smile, noting how the man swallows, embarrassed by his assumption that her ex had been another man.

“After _three years_ together. And she didn’t have the decency to admit it. Perhaps if it had been a one off thing, I could have been more understanding, but _six months_? Of cavorting behind my back, in our— _my_ — bed? I can’t just overlook that kind of betrayal. She knew it was wrong, but was too much of a coward to end things because what we had was ‘special.’ Her words, not mine. If I had to give it a label, it would have been ‘convenient.’” Byleth continues, pausing for breath as more angry tears prickle behind her sore, over abused eyes.

She startles at the realisation that his hand has moved to cradle her own, his thumb running tender circles against her open palm.

She doesn’t pull away, against her better judgment. It felt... good, to have someone impartial just... _listen_. And so she continues, her voice picking up momentum in the chilly wind.

“It was _convenient_ for her to have a place to stay without having to pay rent; even though we both knew she came from money. I didn’t care. I just wanted her to be by my side all the time. It was _convenient_ because she had a place to hide away from all of her problems with her family. It was _convenient_ because she could come and go as she pleased, and evidently it was most convenient of all for her to bring her side dish home for a good squeeze whenever I was out because to her, sex with me was sloppy seconds. Not exciting in the least.” Her voice trembles at the end, a watery quality to her words that grates against her nerves.

She is _so_ _sick_ of crying over her. So sick of it _all_.

But cold as people assume she is, Byleth has a very fragile heart, and it had been trampled on and abused by the one person she thought would cherish it the most. So naturally she was still reeling from the shock, and the heartbreak, of it all.

It seemed as though her companion agreed with the sentiment, as he squeezes her hand and draws her attention back to him.

“She was truly a fool to have deceived you under any circumstance, but it is unforgivable to trample upon your trust and vulnerability under the pretence of valuing and protecting your feelings. Had she really cared at all, she _never_ would have considered being unfaithful. No one who _truly_ deserved your love would ever stray from it. Clearly she was unworthy of you.”

Byleth feels her heart squeeze in her chest; a heady cocktail of lingering heartache and... something else.

Something warm and unintelligible.

The blonde man, as if taken by surprise at his own words, covers his mouth with a gloved hand, coughing into it delicately as the very peaks of his cheeks turn a shade pinker.

“I must apologise. That was rather forward of me, when we are not yet formally acquainted.” His sharp stare is inviting, even amidst his flailing embarrassment.

Byleth can’t help but feel drawn into him, her fingers loosely curling around his own. He had yet to let go of her. She marvels at their size, and over the fact that her hand fits snugly within his tender hold.

As if suddenly reminded of the fact that he had essentially held her hand captive during her emotional outpouring, the man startles, pink cheeks turning crimson under her scrutiny as he attempts to extricate himself from her grasp. Byleth wraps her fingers around his palm, effectively locking him in place.

Stilling, he looks between their joined hands and her face, trying to gauge her intentions.

“I made an appalling first impression, but let me take this opportunity to thank you for your kindness. For escorting me home last night, and for coming to check up on me even though you weren’t obligated to do so. I really appreciate it,” Byleth states with a very slight smile, her gaze unwavering and strong.

“My name is Byleth, by the way.”

She shakes his hand, grip equally as firm as his own as she introduces herself. As if stunned out of his stupor, he smiles broadly ( _and Byleth tries admirably to ignore the way her heartbeat stutters and speeds up incrementally_ ) and inhales sharply through his nose before speaking.

“A pleasure to meet you, Byleth. I am Dimitri.” 

* * *

“Okay, but _seriously_ , was it like, love at first sight? Because I for one have _never_ heard you talk so animatedly about _anything_ before, let alone handsome dog enthusiasts named Dimitri. So _spill_ , By.” Annette practically squeals, garnering several nasty looks in the early morning cafe crowd just trying to enjoy their hot cup of brew.

Dorothea brushes her long auburn mane of hair over her shoulder, lightly nudging the ginger haired bombshell in the ribs as she does so.

“Volume control, Annie. We’re in public.”

There is a distinctly musical quality to her voice, the amused lilt to her tone not lost on Byleth.

After parting on pleasant terms in the wee hours of the morn, Byleth had returned to her apartment in a bit of a daze. Mercedes, being the most perceptive amongst their group of friends, had cornered her once she had made it back in one piece, concerned over the dubiously long walk she had taken when she was only meant to take Lenna out to pee.

Prying the information out of her had been surprisingly painless, and Mercie’s mouth fell open in surprise over the unexpected development. Naturally, it had to be reported to the rest of their motley crew, so they all gathered over breakfast to discuss the unusual circumstance in detail.

And by ‘discussing,’ they meant flailing and squealing over her good fortune.

“Sorry, sorry!” Annette exclaims in a loud, scandalised whisper, her eyes wide and bright with excitement.

Mercedes just smiles, an infinite well of patience as she pats her excitable bestie on the back of the hand. Byleth taps her fingers lightly on her porcelain cup, half full with tepid hot chocolate. Maybe it had been a mistake to divulge the events of her early morning “stroll.” Judging by the irritable glares being thrown in their direction even now, Byleth was sure of her assessment.

It was too late, however, as once her friends had dug their heels in, they weren’t about to budge for anything or anyone.

Annette returns to bouncing in her seat, exuberance personified as she waggles her eyebrows suggestively at the dark haired woman across from her. She wouldn’t rest until she had all the juicy details, starting from how clear his skin was to just _how fit_ he seemed to be under all those wintry layers.

“Come _on_ By, out with the deets! We _technically_ have all day to drag them out of you, so wouldn’t it be better for all of us if you just cough them up _now_? That way we can pretend at having actual lives that don’t revolve around yours!” Annette simpers with a not at all subtle wink in her direction.

Byleth sighs, shaking her head in exasperation.

“I don’t know what you want from me. He took me home, probably to ease his conscience about what could have happened to me had he _not_ done so, and came back to make sure I hadn’t choked on my vomit overnight. We talked dogs and bad breakups, and then we parted ways. Nothing particularly interesting.”

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have bothered to introduce yourself! You see, when embarrassing shit happens and the one exposed to it isn’t over six feet of hunkalicious, you are quick to say your piece and leave! You don’t stick around to revel in the mortification. You _stuck_. Like glue, honey.” Annette retorts with a smug smirk, taking on an imperious air as she levels Byleth with a victorious stare.

“Sure, he was subjectively very pleasing on the eye, I’ll admit. But does that mean anything? Not in the least. Besides, it isn’t like I’ll see him again. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about wanting to see me beyond just impersonally monitoring his hungover charge. No doubt I ruined his evening out.” Byleth responds monotonously, distracting herself from the rising interest evident in her friends eyes at the admittance that she had been attracted to him, even superfluously, by taking a long sip from her lukewarm beverage.

“It means something. To you,” Dorothea intercedes with a flourish, smile coy as she taps her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger.

“I — _we_ — have been by your side all through your breakup, and in these last six weeks, not _once_ have you focused on anything _but_ your ex. This is the first time another human being has registered on your radar, hell, for over three years now. Since you were last single.”

Mercedes and Annette are both nodding in agreement, and Byleth has to fight the urge to pull out her hair in frustration. This was the strangest form of intervention she had ever had to endure.

“We know you’re still hurting, and we won’t deny you that. You really loved that treacherous she-demon,” Thea continues with vigour, voice sickly sweet as she glosses over the cheating wench like it was her own god given right to.

“And she burned you real good honey. But it’s okay to move on, even if it’s something as small as noticing another human being. Especially _attraction_ to said human being. That’s perfectly normal, healthy even. So _enjoy_ yourself; revel in your sexual freedom and embrace it!” Dorothea finishes her spiel with a sultry wink, and Byleth just barely suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

“My, perhaps _not_ the sexual part. Not just yet. You don’t want to jump headfirst into anything too quickly,” Mercedes quips, ever the voice of reason as she raises a thickly manicured eyebrow at Dorothea, who merely sticks her tongue out in response.

“Party pooper.”

“If I must be, then yes. I do not wish to see By feel as though she has been used for her body, when she has so much to offer beyond casual dalliances.” Mercie says without hesitation, rebuking whatever Thea had intended to say, as she is quick to shut her parted lips.

The girl loved a good debate, but when presented with a reasonable argument, she could not protest it. Much.

“Well yeah, sure, when you put it that way. Our best girl deserves _only_ the best, after all.”

“You’re _damned right_ she does!” Annette butts in loudly, slamming an animated fist on the table in the process. Her tall glass of juice spills over the rim a bit, but she barely takes notice of it, instead leaning over the table to pry Byleth’s hands from her cup so that she can cradle them in her own.

She blithely ignores the irritable patrons calls to have her vacated from the premises.

“And what better place to start than with this hunkster beefcake Dimitri! You deserve a goddamned _throne_ from which you are worshipped by the masses! I’ll settle for no less for one of my three favourite people in the world— Mercie and Thea are obviously the other two.” Annie adds on as an afterthought, grin matching her jocularity as she makes to grab for the other women blindly.

They humour Annette’s burgeoning explosion of vivacity, giving their hands to her so that she can stack them atop of Byleth’s and her own.

“We are all in this together, and you can be _sure_ that we aren’t gonna give up until we reunite you with your puppy daddy!”

“Oh my god, Annie, that name _isn’t_ going to stick—“

“It is. Like you. To Dimitri. Get it? You’re ‘ _stuck_ ’... on Dimitri...? Argh, never mind that! The point still stands!” Annette marches on boldly, stuttering over her terrible attempt at a pun before arriving at the crescendo of her monologue.

“We will search high and low, leaving no stone unturned, so that you can make the smoochie eyes at him once more!”

What in the three layers of hell had Byleth gotten herself into...?   
  


* * *

**Ending Remarks:** _I have no idea how long this will be. Strap yourselves in for a_ **ride** _._  
  


_Also FYI I have an American Akita so I speak from experience when I say these suckers are BIG._


	2. Lingering and Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** On with the show. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

***.*.*.*.*.***

He could still see her delicate, fragile smile in his mind’s eye, clear as the brightest star in the sky above.

Dimitri had never been one for idle speculation, much less entertaining whimsical fantasies, and yet here he was, chin in hand and eyes glazed over in thought. He couldn’t shake the impression she had left on him. There certainly wasn’t any better way of ensuring his fixation than heaving one’s stomach contents all over his expensive leather boots, surely.

Whilst it had been established that it had been purely coincidental (because who _proactively_ seeks out the drunken and impaired otherwise?), he still couldn’t help but be pleased that he had been her veritable knight in shining armour.

Byleth.

Such a pretty name. Exotic in a way he was unaccustomed to, and yet somehow familiar, rolling easily off of his tongue. Dimitri had been in the company of and acquainted with many of the fairer sex in his years, his affluent background offering a veritable plethora of opportunities to mingle with endless prospective partners. But none had ever captured his attentions so wholly before.

He felt like a teenager all over again, pining and lovesick over someone he had no chance with. But that had yet to dissuade his overactive imagination, which kept replaying their brief encounter with astounding clarity— rose-coloured filters and all. Were Dimitri not a self-professed romantic, he would have been mortified by the direction his musings had taken him in.

This woman was essentially still a stranger to him, after all.

Just one that had a name and a face he couldn’t seem to shake for the life of him.

“—Earth to Dimitri! Are you in there buddy?”

Said man snaps to attention, the distant quality to his expression melting into surprise as he grunts in affirmation. His blue eyes seek out the source of his reemergence into reality. Striking red hair, fair skin, and a winning smile greets him. Sylvain looks a mixture of amused and confused, quite the emotional cocktail for him to be partaking in so early in the morning.

“Ah-ha, and the space-case returns to grace us with his presence once more, I see! Is my company truly so dull that you’re not even gonna pretend at humouring me?” Sylvain quips with an expression that is playing a good game at hurt. If the sharp, analytical look in his eyes didn’t give him away, then the blatant humour in his tone was enough to put Dimitri’s heart at ease. He wasn’t terribly put out, irrespective of his earlier phrasing.

“My apologies, Sylvain. That is not at all the case. I seem to be finding my mind preoccupied with other matters, of which have no bearing on the pleasure of your companionship, let me assure you.” Dimitri placates his friend with a small but genuine smile, expression clearing of the earlier fog it had unwittingly fallen into.

He had been thoughtless and insensitive toward his friends without even realising it. What kind of spell had this Byleth cast over him, to have him so distracted even now? It had been weeks since their fateful encounter. And even now she clamours at the back of his mind, her bewitching eyes and charming smile the only colours distinguishable in the fractured palette of his mind.

“Are you feeling unwell, Dimitri? It is unlike you to be so unfocused.”

Another voice pipes in, distinctly feminine and yet all at once stern. Dimitri casts a glance over at the blonde sitting across from him, next to the randy but loveable redhead (most definitely acting as a buffer for Sylvain’s philandering tendencies.)

Ingrid, one of his oldest and dearest friends, and most assuredly the voice of reason and propriety in their friendship circle, sits with her hands folded in front of her; examining every twitch in Dimitri’s expression to determine the cause of his sudden indifference. She was frightfully perceptive, so he knew that there was little point in trying to hide anything from her.

“Not at all, Ingrid. Honestly, I have been plagued with thoughts of a... personal nature. You do recall the evening we went to survey the town for research and data collection, correct?”

The blonde woman pauses, thinking back as she appraises him with curious eyes.

“This was for that report for your father, correct? About assessing cultural phenomena in order to help expand the business into socio-economical reform?”

“You could just say, ‘going out for a night on the town to understand what kids do for fun these days,’ instead of getting all fancy with it, Ingrid.” Sylvain interjects with a snicker, smirking at the irritated glare she throws his way in response.

“It’s important to adopt the typical vernacular of the common people, in order to truly convey a sense of understanding after all. It’s what Lambert asked us to do; blend, adapt, and overcome so that we can all find common ground.”

“I know that, you dumbass!” Ingrid seethes vehemently, eyes slitted in aggravation as she elbows him none to gently in his ribcage.

“But dumbing it down only serves fools like you. Dimitri and I aren’t on your level, so don’t drag us down there with you!”

Sylvain has the audacity to look _wounded_ — or as wounded as someone as sardonic and flippant as him can be — and he raises a hand in faux despair over his heart.

Dimitri can only shake his head, bemused with their antics as he takes a moment to recall why it was they were even his friends in the first place.

All he really remembers is another of his father’s exorbitantly lavish parties when he was a young boy; a red haired troublemaker wreaking havoc with the ladies that were in attendance; and a bowl of punch being dumped over a then young Ingrid, himself and Sylvain as she fought desperately to discourage his flirtatious advances. It had been a sticky, altogether unpleasant affair in retrospect, but they had all ended up laughing it off, and had been bosom buddies ever since. Partners in crime and all that— except without the crime and a lot more studying to be proper high-society adults instead. 

“Why Ingrid, how your words wound me so!”

“How I’d like to wound you with my _fists_ instead!”

“My goodness, I never would have guessed such a proper and upstanding a lady as _you_ would be into _fisting_ of all things— _ow_!”

Dimitri tunes back in, laughter tickling the back of his throat as he watches the two squabble in typical fashion. Just another day in the life of two people who had been together since infancy. Despite all appearances, there weren’t any closer individuals than the two currently brawling across from him. Ingrid was always there to temper Sylvain and teach him the meaning of restraint, whilst Sylvain was quick to jump to Ingrid’s defence whenever things were even slightly out of place.

Quietly, Dimitri thought the two were a match made in heaven— they just had yet to figure that out. They brought out the absolute best in each other, and were always there to pick up the pieces when life dealt them the worst possible hands; taking the time to put all the shattered remnants back together again. Ingrid refused to take any of his shit, and was all too happy to smack some sense into him when he went completely off the grid with his shenanigans. Sylvain needs that kind of stability in his life, at least from Dimitri’s perspective.

And likewise, Sylvain is the breath of fresh air Ingrid needs to remind her that there is more to life than just existing— it is meant to be lived, by the living, and standing idle and hesitating will only get you so far before you stagnate altogether.

“Now, now, you both need to reign it in. The proprietor looks positively livid, and we would not wish to incur his wrath anymore than we already have. Quaint places of respite such as these are a rarity to come by, after all, and I for one would like to return here someday,” Dimitri exclaims with a patient smile directed at his companions.

They have the decency to look equally abashed by the realisation that they had been throwing verbal abuse at one another so openly, both bowing their heads in apology to the owner of the cafe. He merely shakes his head, muttering what could only be expletives under his breath as he returns to manning the counter.

“I must apologise for that unsightly display, Dimitri. I let myself get swept up by Sylvain’s idiocy once again.” Ingrid proffers her hands in a gesture that clearly denotes brushing the redhead off for good, and he visibly bristles at the inference that it was all _his_ doing.

“Well enjoy it while it lasts, _sweetheart_ , because that’s the only kind of ‘sweeping’ you’ll ever experience from a man of _my_ calibre,” Sylvain all but spits the words out, shit-eating grin on his face showing a gleaming mouth full of perfect pearly whites.

There is a hard edge to his tone that is not missed by either Dimitri or Ingrid, who both just sigh in exasperation. He had taken it personally, like a child.

Even though he was three years their senior, his emotional capacity was virtually nonexistent, and so whilst he was perfectly adept at obscuring his true face behind a mask of fickle indifference in front of the ladies he wooed, he was incapable of hiding his true self from them. He has a surprisingly fragile ego, and Ingrid always had this way of bruising it one way or another. Oops.

“Oh, for the love of God, Sylvain, _suck it up_! We’re _both_ to blame for getting carried away, so accept your share of the culpability and move on! And as if you were even _worthy_ of sweeping _me_ off my feet in the first place; get real you dweeb! You ain’t no knight, that’s for sure.” Ingrid’s usually collected and proper speech mannerisms all but slip away by the end of her tirade, her brow furrowed in barely suppressed bloodlust as she kicks him under the table.

 _Hard_.

It connects with his shin, and he hisses in audible pain.

Dimitri crosses his legs, sighs once more, and tips his head back to take a swig of his blacker than black coffee. Somehow he knew this day would be a long and tiresome venture to endure. His theory is only proven when the two begin fighting again in earnest, sparks flying between them and accentuating the chaotic chemistry between the two oblivious fools. There was no stopping them now.

Coolly Dimitri raises his hand, signalling the nearby waiter, who looks on aghast at the mounting tension in the air.

“Cheque please.”

* * *

_Byleth is shoved roughly into the wall, teeth affixed to her neck and fingers tugging furiously on her bared nipples, the peaks hardening with every tweak and roll between thumb and forefinger. Her cunt throbs, a resonant second heartbeat fluctuating on the edge of a messy orgasm as she squirms fruitlessly— desperate for friction._

_She groans, two fingers probing, dancing, stuttering down her abdomen, until they are met with slick, wet heat, and she moans her pleasure aloud. Skin like alabaster is pressed against her own, hard and yet soft like velvet, and she desperately wants to wrap herself up in their heat, to melt into them and cease to be._

_To shatter on and around their tongue, screaming noiselessly into the void. Never had she wanted so badly to fuck, and to be fucked, until she could no longer make sense of the world around her. She just wanted to drown in it, noisy pleasure, quiet, it didn’t matter. But judging by the way her fingers were furiously stroking over her clit, chasing a high to pull her out of her despairing low, she knows that she will come undone unabashedly loud and wanting more still._

_She craves it, so much that liquid desire drips down her inner thighs, soaking her completely. She’s a wet, sopping mess, and she loves it._

_Kisses rain like fire down her neck, peppering along her clavicle then down between her naked breasts, and a cheeky tongue flicks a teasing circle around one nipple. Byleth hums, slipping two fingers inside herself with ease as she revels in the body worship. Her faceless partner smirks against her skin, but does not remain in place for long._

_They continue on their downward trek, fingers of their remaining hand closing around her throat and pressing down on it very lightly— the suggestion of something more and so utterly tantalising that Byleth squirts a little in surprise._

_She’s so, **so close** she can taste it on her tongue, and her eyes roll into the back of her head when her hand is tentatively peeled away and replaced with a hot and inquisitive mouth. Her hands rest atop their head, fingers threading through the soft hair she found there and tugging insistently to direct their tongue to where she really wanted it. _

_They oblige easily, but not without a breathy laugh against her slick folds, which only serves to ignite the pyre burning tumultuously low in her tummy._

_So close, so close, **so close**...!_

_Byleth bucks her hips, riding fingers and tongue with her gyrating pelvis, her legs going numb as the pleasure begins to spread and descend into her kneecaps. They shake perilously beneath her, and for a moment the dark haired woman is worried she won’t be able to hold herself upright._

_A firm arm wraps around her waist, pinning her between the wall and the warm body at her feet, as if sensing the turn her thoughts had taken; never pausing in their ministrations as they sunk their tongue indulgently into her convulsing entrance. It was strangely comforting, knowing that her wellbeing and pleasure came first and foremost, and that she was safe to fully throw herself into it without fear of injury._

_Her voice rises into a whining keen. A hard flick and press of tongue against her shrinking clit and the rapid-fire curling of fingers stretching her apart is all it takes to send her over the precipice, her orgasm rattling her to the bone as she comes. Her legs shake and she feels tears fall from her eyes, hot and warm down her cheeks at the sheer intensity of the climax she had been granted._

_The urge to kiss mounts each second they prolong her pleasure, fingers and tongue stroking her through the motions until she has been rubbed raw. Byleth tugs gently on their hair, hips twitching from over-sensitivity as they pause in lapping up her juices long enough to send her an alluring smile from their place on their knees._

_Longing curls, unbidden, in her tummy as a face begins to form before her, and she has never wanted it more than she wants it now._

_“...Dimitri...”_

Byleth awakes with a start, sweat pouring down her spine and sending a chill right through her.

Oh god.

She bites down on her lip, gnawing on the plush flesh as she notes with mounting fluster that her panties are drenched. She presses her thighs together and a startled moan leaves her as she comes just from the friction of that action. How desperate and pent up was she that she would orgasm with so little preamble?

Cheeks heavily flushed, she pants softly, burying her face in her hands as she reflects on the events of her wet dream.

“What am I doing? I’m not a fucking teenager anymore, I shouldn’t be this horny for a guy I barely know.” Her voice is hoarse, dry as a desert as she paws blindly for her bottle of water on her bedside table.

She pulls the cool liquid into herself greedily, water trickling down her chin as she gasps for air moments later.

“Fucks sake, Byleth, get your shit together! Don’t bring randoms into your fantasies, it’s sexual exploitation!”

She slams her bottle down a little too loudly on the crisp wood of the table adjacent from her, and she winces at the reverberating sound it makes in the din of her room. Teasing the knots from her hair with one hand and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with the other, Byleth seeks out the time.

10:47am. She had overslept.

Sunday or not, she was quick to jump out of her bed, ignoring the way her legs shake under her weight as she strips off her sleepwear and jumps into the shower. She really needed to cool her libido off. Twenty five minutes later, and Byleth had scrubbed her body from top to bottom, hair washed and dried and face looking a little livelier than it had been half an hour ago (her expression post-climax was usually pretty spacey, after all.)

Towel wrapped tautly around her chest, Byleth rifles through her closet for something suitable to wear, barely blinking when tornado Dorothea comes crashing into her bedroom with a loud “I’m here to knock your socks off, honey!”

“Hello, Thea. Nice to see you again. Make yourself at home.” Byleth’s voice is bland and unaffected by the raunchy nature of Dorothea’s statement as she pulls out two shirts and evaluates them critically. Should she dress for comfort, or to entertain? Decisions, decisions.

The auburn haired woman huffs indignantly, pride a little wounded at the lacklustre response. What else had she been expecting from _Byleth_ of all people?

Sniffing daintily, she comes up behind By, wrapping her arms around her almost naked torso and pressing her chin into her shoulder as she points insistently at the bold top with the deep cut around the cleavage.

“That one. Pair it with the spandex and lace tights and those hooker heels. We’re going out to have some fun.”

Byleth raises a manicured eyebrow Thea’s way. That was news to her. She humours her pouty lipped friend, pulling the respective articles of clothing from her cupboard and shuffling over to her bed, Dorothea still attached at the hip as she does so.

“It would be easier to get dressed if you’d let me go, Thea.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Then we don’t go out. It’s your choice.”

Huffing indignantly, Thea lets her go reluctantly, throwing herself into Byleth’s unmade bed as she settles in and makes herself comfortable.

Without blinking, Byleth drops the towel, shuffling around her room naked as she searches for a matching bra and bikini bottom. Thea watches with interest, licking her lips and smiling coyly as she lets her eyes feast on the dips and curves of wonton flesh before her.

“Like what you see?” Byleth quips with a small smile to herself, making a point of showing her bottom in full as she bends to open her bedside drawer.

Dorothea grins like a Cheshire Cat, foxy expression further emphasised by the sexy pose she adopts sprawled on her friend’s bed.

“ _Very_ much. I’d _pay_ for a show like this.”

“Not like that’s anything new to you,” Byleth retorts with a casual wink over her shoulder, and Dorothea makes a point of blowing a flirtatious kiss her way.

“You aren’t wrong. We did meet with you working the stripper pole back in the day. Ah, what a blissful encounter that was...” She trails off suggestively, eyebrows waggling as she rolls onto her tummy and props her chin atop both of her hands. Eyes still fixated to every minuscule movement Byleth makes.

“You make it sound like it was eons ago. It’s only been seven years since then.”

“Seven years and a plethora of wrinkles later, you mean. Have you _seen_ my skin? It was so supple back then but now? Drier than my cunt was ten minutes ago. Before you got all sexy and nude for me. Now I’m ready and rearing to go.” Her tone is teasing, but there is something there that makes Byleth pause in consideration.

She shakes her head. If only they had the time for such idle pleasures.

“A tempting offer, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Pops called last night, asking for a favour, so I’ll be busy all afternoon and well into the evening. Sorry, Thea. You’ll just have to content yourself with your hands for now.”

Said woman visibly deflates, pouting a little petulantly as she curls a strand of her loose hair around a twitchy finger.

“Way to kill my buzz, babe. I was looking forward to oiling you up and getting us both off.”

“A tragedy, I know. But you are aware that I’d do anything for my father, right? I can’t let him down, even for sex. Sorry hon.” Byleth says with an apologetic glance Dorothea’s way as she pulls up her lace panties over her hips.

“I know, I know. Daddy comes first. Maybe I could help him with that—“

“ _Thea_. You’re free to fuck anyone you want aside from my dad. Paws off.”

Byleth sends a pointed glare her friend’s way, a warning to tread lightly. If there was one thing Byleth was perhaps overly sensitive about (other than orgasms of course), it was her dad. While she accepted that he was his own person and a grown ass man, the thought of him fucking anyone she happened to be close to felt... dirty. Like a violation of her privacy. She wanted to keep their sexual partners very much separate, thank you very much. She had never been good at sharing her things, after all.

“Point taken, I won’t solicit your dad for sexual favours so long as you promise me that you’re gonna at least get yourself off from time to time. Despite what Mercie said about not jumping into things, you need to let loose. What with your teaching job at the University, and your volunteer work as the assistant black belt instructor at your dad’s dojo, you have so little time to relax and enjoy yourself.” Dorothea says in a tone so serious that Byleth pauses in the middle of adjusting her bra to face her.

She takes a moment to think back to her steamy sex dream, a soft echo of pleasure pulsing through her core as she recalls the image of Dimitri’s deep set jaw covered in her glistening wetness, his eyes bright and burning with lust as he looks up at her from between her parted thighs. Her cheeks grow warm. _Hoo boy_.

“Well actually...” She trails off, voice wavering a little under Thea’s scrutiny.

Said woman immediately perks up, almost bouncing off the bed in her haste as she rounds in on Byleth, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face her. She knew a sexy story in the making when she saw one, and it was plainly written on Byleth’s face that she had a tale of her own to tell.

“Bitch, _spill_. What have you not disclosed? This girl needs to know every single delicious detail.”

Byleth sighs, rolling her eyes as she pulls her top on before leading Dorothea to her bed. They both make themselves comfortable; Thea cradling Byleth’s hands in her own as she sits at attention.

“I had my first wet dream in over a year this morning,” she begins tentatively, Dorothea all teeth as she grins at the mildly flustered Byleth. If she of all people was embarrassed about it, then it had to be juicy indeed.

Byleth focuses her gaze upon their linked fingers, humming thoughtfully as she tries to find the right words to describe her morning emissions. Dorothea is practically vibrating off of her own momentum, a heady mix of anticipation and lust in her eyes as she drinks in the sight of her friend mulling things over.

“There was a lot of teeth and tongue action — your favourite kind, I know,” Byleth addresses her with a subtle wink of her own, and Thea giggles softly in response.

“At first, they were just a faceless prop for my pleasure, and I was okay with that. Sometimes it kills my vibe overthinking what they look like, you know?”

Thea nods sympathetically, patting her on the back of the hand. Speaking from personal experiences with her own fingers and toys, sometimes it was better to just be taken by the mood, and not spend an hour nitpicking over how packed the illusory figment happened to be. All she really needed was the perfect pair of tits or a fat cock and that took her to all kinds of happy places. Who needs a face when it’s gonna spend all of its time buried between your legs, anyway?

Byleth continues, her voice level and surprisingly even for the content she was so casually divulging.

“But then, after they made me come with their tongue, they looked up at me and... morphed into someone I barely know.”

Dorothea stills for a moment, taking in the rising colour in the dark haired woman’s cheeks, and the way she shifts her thighs together as she readjusts herself. Oh. _Oh_.

“Don’t tell me; Dimitri, right?”

When Byleth only nods uselessly in her direction, Dorothea sighs in exasperation. Why was she so worked up over this?

“So what if you had a sex dream about your puppy daddy?”

Byleth bristles at the stupid nickname Annette had dubbed him with, but the auburnette merely shrugs off the annoyed grimace directed at her and continues on her tirade.

“I’m sure he would be absolutely _flattered_ that you found him attractive enough to get the leading role in your little wet dream. No man with any sense — who isn’t _gay_ , don’t look at me like that — would be put out over being desired by someone as hot as you are, hon. And it’s not like you’ll ever see him again, so what’s so harmless about getting off to your fantasy version of him?”

There was an illogical amount of sense to her words, and Byleth can only chew on her bottom lip in thought as she contemplates what to do with this new insight. She didn’t feel right about objectifying someone without their consent, but Dorothea was right. What were the chances that she would ever run into him again? Slim to none.

He had been very put together when last she saw him, and spoke in a manner that suggested that he ran in high-rolling circles. Very posh and educated indeed. They lived in totally different socio-economical circumstances. The wealthy weren’t exactly known for mingling in middle to lower class society, after all, preferring the company of their own to the largely segregated masses Byleth lived amongst. So realistically, the odds of meeting again were slight at best.

“But the fact that he has such a hold over you, even _now_ , to the point of getting you off— a difficult feat for most men even on a good day— has me intrigued. I wonder if dream-you would introduce dream-him to me? I need some new material to keep me warm at night, since you’re so busy lately.” Dorothea exclaims jokingly, laughing at the mortified look Byleth sends her way.

“Right, right, you don’t like to share. Even your dream fuck buddies are off limits, I know. A shame, really. I’d like to see just how well he fucked your pussy for myself.”

“ _THEA_!” Byleth hisses loudly, her face positively crimson as said woman makes a crude gesture with her tongue and two fingers.

She still can’t believe this woman was and is one of her best friends.

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Still, you can’t fault me for being intrigued. You haven’t had a sexual fantasy so vivid since—“ She cuts herself off quickly, the air growing tense between them momentarily as Byleth stiffens.

“Since before I broke up with my girlfriend, yes. I know.”

“I’m sorry, hon. You know me, sticking my foot in my own mouth is basically my trademark at this point. Here I am, encouraging you to move on by bringing up the past. I’m a shitty friend.”

Dorothea looks genuinely sincere, even a little miffed at herself for her insensitivity, and Byleth only shakes her head dismissively. It had been nearly three months since her breakup, and she really had to kick herself into gear and get over it. It wasn’t like Ellie was hung up on her, after all.

“No you’re not. It’s about high time I left what’s in the past behind me and get on with things. This is as good a first step as any, I suppose.”

Byleth pats Dorothea on the thigh with her free hand, expression mild.

“While it’s true that you need to move on, it’s also true that time works differently for every person. You don’t have to feel rushed to get over your grief, your anger, just because I’m a mouthy fuckwit pressuring you to go get some action. Your feelings are valid, and you should take your time expressing them? I guess is what I’m trying to say— ugh, I fucking _suck_ at heart to hearts, can we just go back to talking about getting dicked instead?”

Byleth laughs, reaching for her sexiest pair of pants— courtesy, of course, of Dorothea— and sliding off of the bed to squeeze her ass into them. Upon Thea’s insistence that she needed to get the size smaller to really show off her arse at its very best, Byleth had reluctantly purchased them, knowing that this was her friend’s idea of helping her to get laid post breakup.

She firmly believed that by feeling sexy and confident in her body, Byleth would be able to forget her sorrows and move forward. It didn’t mean she had to jump into another relationship. She just needed to relearn how to enjoy being single and free to cavort whenever she pleased. At least from Thea’s perspective. She had never been the relationship kind of girl, after all. What did she know?

She finished getting dressed, deciding to brush on a quick layer of concealer to cover the bags under her eyes and blending her foundation into her complexion in under ten minutes. Dorothea rifles through her makeup bag, pulling out a soft pink lipgloss and tossing it Byleth’s way. She applies it lightly, pressing her lips together with a gentle smack to spread it evenly. Her look is soft and natural, and she neglects to apply any liner or mascara to her eyes, opting for a basic look since she was going to be sweating it off later.

Jeralt Eisner, renowned master black belt, was calling in a favour from is only child; to run his late afternoon and evening martial arts classes while he went to his bi-monthly doctor’s appointment. She had been all too happy to take the reigns for him, figuring her form needed some work since she had taken such a long break from teaching.

Since these were the specialty, black belt only classes, she was sure to get a good workout without having to fear hurting the pupils too much. Perhaps she could vent some of her pent up sexual frustrations out on a cocky, overconfident student with her hands and feet...

Turning to observe her reflection in her dresser mirror, Byleth smiles in satisfaction. Casually tarted up, she looks as sexy as she feels, and judging by the approval in Dorothea’s expression, she knew that she would indeed turn some heads today.

Good.

“ _Damn_ , my girl. Looking extra spicy-hott. With two Ts. Let’s go make some collective knees _weak_!” 

* * *

  
Mercedes and Annette had taken Lenna out to the park for a picnic earlier in the day, having been informed of Byleth’s busy schedule the evening prior. The dark haired woman was incredibly thankful for their consideration, as always, and intended to repay them in full once her hectic quota had been fulfilled. Perhaps with a good old homemade dinner. It was a great opportunity to get all the girls together for a much needed slumber party.

She spent a good four hours flaunting the goods with Thea in the higher end of downtown, many onlookers drawn to the stunning ladies as they hopped from shop to shop, revelling in luxuries they could never afford. A few ballsy men with more money than sense made passes at them, but it was foolishly simple to brush them off by making a show of being together.

This venture was all about reclaiming their sexual power, not exerting it in physical practice, after all. It didn’t stop Thea from flirting up a storm with anyone that caught her eye, however, and Byleth could only roll her eyes and go along with the charade for as long as the fickle auburnette’s attention lasted.

By three thirty, the two women were making their way to the Blue Lion Dojo in Byleth’s car, singing along with the radio to reckless abandon. Both were very capable singers, particularly Dorothea, who was in the midst of finishing her Masters in operatic vocals at their local alumni.

She even had a position in the esteemed Black Eagle Opera — home to the very affluent patrons of Enbarr and Fhirdiad alike— all lined up for her once her degree was complete. Thus she was a very ‘accomplished‘ singer indeed.

Byleth pulls into the car park in the middle of a particularly heartfelt rendition of “Shorty Got Back,” snickering as Dorothea does a very poor job of grinding in her car seat, thrusting her chest outwards with every pump of her lively arms in front of her.

A singer she may be, but dancing was never her forte, and Byleth can only snort at her friend’s earnest attempts to groove to the beat.

Both women wear identical smiles on their faces as they make their way out of the car, Byleth pausing to collect her training bag from the boot. Slinging the moderately heavy bag over one shoulder, she locks her car with very little flourish, her remaining arm slipping into Thea’s outstretched one without preamble.

Linked up and still singing the silly tune in tandem with one another, Byleth leads Dorothea into the dojo, nodding in greeting at the middle aged woman manning the front counter. Though she was sure that Manuela would not appreciate being referred to as such, so she did not vocalise that particular thought aloud. It wasn’t as if the stunning woman looked a day over twenty five, in all honesty. Whatever her skincare routine entailed, Byleth could definitely use some of her tips for herself.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favourite sensei! Welcome back! Jeralt _did_ mention you would be filling in for him this afternoon. Sounded pretty put out by being forced to rely on his precious daughter to do his job for him, but it can’t be helped! His health takes priority, especially if he wishes to continue running this joint.”

Manuela launches into a tirade of her own, clearly bored senseless and looking for some gossip wherever she could get it to fill the void of her long shift.

“Yes, it’s nice to see you too, Manuela. I hope things have been well since I was here last. How did things go with that handsome stockbroker you were gushing to me about? Still shacking up with him?” Byleth interjects smoothly, expression as pleasant as she could force it to be without it being obvious that she was merely exchanging pleasantries for the sake of keeping the peace.

Judging by the scowl that quickly twists the elder woman’s plushly painted lips, things had apparently gone sour for her yet again.

“Oh, _that_ inconsiderate jerk? He took one look at my apartment, after I had the good graces to invite him there _personally_ , and told me point blank he couldn’t _bear_ to be with a woman who wasn’t a natural born homemaker, and then _he LEFT._ After he was basically _GUARANTEED_ to get _laid_. I mean, I cannot _believe_ it, can you? He was nowhere near househusband material, and yet did that matter to me? _NOT IN THE LEAST_! I was willing to put up with and _put out_ for that slovenly cur, and _HE_ has the gall to call _ME_ a _slob_? Good riddance, I say!” Manuela shrieks angrily, voice rising in heat and intensity as she swears herself off men for the millionth time that week, no doubt.

Byleth smiles in what she hopes is a sympathetic fashion as Dorothea, swept up by Manuela’s passionate rant, is pulled into her momentum.

“Aren’t men just _the worst_ like that? It wouldn’t kill them to, oh, I don’t know, put a little more effort into _improving themselves_ before they decide they’re entitled to pass judgment over others!”

“ _EXACTLY_! What’s so hard about _that_?! Making others flaws the centrepiece for breaking things off is just plain rude! No human being is perfect, not a damned one, and it makes me _sick_ that so many men expect me to bow down and be the demure and perfect trophy housewife while they get to kick their feet up and be their disgustingly overbearing selves!”

The two women continue to chat up a storm, and Byleth takes the chance to slip away and peek into the current class lineup. It seemed like Jeralt’s last session for the day had just come to an end, and while most of the students were filing out to collect their belongings and vacate the building, a few stragglers remained, questioning their teacher with a zealousness that was as charming as it was slightly unnerving. Her father had always been an incredibly patient man, and it lent a special quality to his lessons that left his students totally and utterly transfixed.

He cared about their individual wellbeing, and was proactive about supporting them in every feasible way he could. Within reason of course.

He _did_ have other priorities outside of the classroom, after all.

Noting that the changing room was deserted, Byleth casts a furtive glance over her shoulder. Dorothea was well and truly preoccupied, and would surely not cause any undue mischief if left unsupervised for the few minutes it took the dark haired woman to change.

She pulls on her black gi quickly and efficiently, affixing her black belt in place like it was second nature. She had never gotten used to bearing the title of Master, and while she technically had surpassed her father the Grand Master long ago, she had never taken the official tests to become certified. Since there were so few who claimed the title, it would mean extra responsibilities for her to bear, especially as the heir to a dojo, and she just didn’t have the time for that. Not while she was teaching at the University.

Tucking her things away in her personal cubby, Byleth runs through some brief warmup exercises, loosening her taut muscles and limbering up for a long evening of demonstrating proper martial technique.

While she had never enjoyed being the focal point of any gathering, under the banner of learning and sharing knowledge, Byleth was willing to put herself out there at the forefront. No student would use sloppy form under her watchful eyes. That was a certainty.

Byleth steps out of the changing room, taking note of the fact that Dorothea was noticeably absent.

Oh no.

What was that flirt up to now?

Manuela, noticing her wandering gaze, points a manicured finger towards the open space where the classes take place.

“She went that way, sensei. Trailed right after the group of attractive young black belt candidates like she’d been led by the nose. But I mean, it’s understandable. Anyone who has _eyes_ would do the same. _I_ would, if I weren’t confined to this damned chair.”

Thanking the woman with a courteous nod and a wave, Byleth strides briskly towards the plein-air space, praying internally to any deity up there that she’d make it in time before Thea made a spectacle of herself, as she was so wont to do.

Blessedly, she is instead standing idle in the visitors portion of the room, chatting up her father with a smile that is thankfully tame and restrained by her standards.

Jeralt laughs at something she says as he takes a great big mouthful of water from the bottle hanging limply at his side. He is profoundly drenched in sweat from a day of intensively working out, but his eyes are clear and sharp as a tack as he surveys the room, gaze falling upon her as he nods at whatever Dorothea had said.

His expression altogether softens when he takes in his daughter in full attire, hair tied in a messy bun atop her head as she makes her way over to them. He hadn’t seen her in weeks. Not since just after her breakup. He had been so damned concerned for her in all that time, keeping tabs on her through her friends since she was barely capable of taking care of herself for a while, and he was relieved to see her walk in confidently and seemingly ready to put herself back together again.

That’s the strong girl he had raised her to be.

Never letting the odds get the best of her.

“I hope everything here has been of a PG rating at most. According to Manuela, Thea here couldn’t help but be herself and came to check out the goods on display. You didn’t try to stick your tongue down anyone’s throat on the way here, did you?”

“Of course not, babe, scouts honour. I’m on my best behaviour, after all.” Dorothea winks, crossing her heart with mocking fingers.

Fingers that had done all sorts of sinful, wicked things.

Fingers that were now hovering by her lips as she blew Byleth a cheeky kiss.

“ _Please_ , you were never in the scouts, stop acting coy.”

“I’d be great at selling the cookies though, you’ve got to admit. I know _I’d_ buy them, if I weren’t me.”

“You’d just eat them all and blame it on the customers, and you know it.”

“Right you are, babe. I’d rather buy them from _you_ instead. Short skirt, tight shirt, knee high socks and pigtails; you’d make a _killing_ off of gullible horn dogs like me.”

Jeralt coughs into the palm of his hand, the stern ridges of his face paving the way for embarrassment as he listens to the scandalous banter his child is in the midst of exchanging with her good “friend.” He _really_ didn’t need to hear this.

Byleth coughs as well, trying and ultimately failing to hide a smile from him in the process.

“Well, I’d best gather the troops and get them into formation before introducing you to them. This is your first solo session, and your first time teaching the black belts and black belt candidates alike, so proper etiquette is to be observed. If you intend to stay to observe, Dorothea, then I expect you will remain true to your word and be on your _best behaviour._ Remain seated here at all times during the session, keep your cellular device on silent, and do not interrupt Byleth while she’s teaching.”

His stern warning voiced, Jeralt spins on his heel, eager to escape from the blatant sexual energy exuding from the young women in spades.

“Now that the party pooper is gone, let’s check out the to be fruits of your labour, yeah?” Dorothea whispers scandalously, face bright and almost sparkling as she eagerly devours every person present with hungry eyes.

Byleth complies, if only to garner an idea of how many names and faces she would have to commit to memory in such a short expanse of time.

Lots of men, a few women. They’d be easier to remember.

Red hair, black hair, even some white, green and was that purple she spied in the farthest corner? Or perhaps a faded variant of blue? Several heads of blonde stuck out here and there as well, and as she squinted to see if she could pick out any defining features to remember each student by, her heart thuds to a perilous and abrupt stop.

Her mouth is suddenly very, _very_ dry.

She grips Dorothea’s arm in a vicelike hold, face several shades paler as her eyes follow a very tall, very familiar figure around the room.

“Thea... remember what you said earlier? About not having to worry about you-know-who again?”

Said woman raises a finely plucked eyebrow her way, nodding even as she winces a little under the pressure of Byleth’s hand around her wrist.

“Yes, what about it, love?”

Byleth swallows thickly, and as if by some cosmic power beyond her control, her eyes meet with crystalline blue.

“You were wrong. He’s over there.”

* * *

Standing across the classroom, twin gazes meet.

Dimitri smiles brilliantly when he realises with a flutter in his abdomen that the girl he had been mulling over for weeks now is within arms reach.   
  


* * *

**Ending Remarks:** _And the plot thickens._


	3. Reciprocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Let’s keep the ball rolling, shall we? 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

***.*.*.*.*.***

“So this Byleth chick is the reason why you’ve been so out of it lately, huh?”

For once, Sylvain’s voice is contemplative, lacking in its usual mocking bite as he sits back in his armchair, arms folded behind his head thoughtfully. They had departed from the cafe after a thorough scolding from the owner, and had hastily retreated back to Sylvain’s luxury condo. Dimitri sat alongside Ingrid on the plush settee in the redhead’s bedroom, legs crossed and arms folded in his lap. He nods in confirmation, cheeks pinker than he would have liked to admit.

“Yes. I must admit, I still cannot fathom why she is on my mind even now.” Dimitri says evenly, his posture stiff and attentive to his friends curious glances.

In all honesty, Sylvain was, dare he think it, _shocked_. He had known the blonde man across from him since he was ten years old, and not once in the twelve years since then had Dimitri ever demonstrated an _inkling_ of interest in the opposite sex beyond polite pleasantries. He had always been shy about his personal affairs, especially when they were of a more _intimate_ nature, and not once could either of them ever recall him coming to them for advice.

Until now.

“Well I’d say puberty for you was extremely delayed, if you’re struggling to figure out why she’s on your mind,” Sylvain exclaims with a grin, his expression strangely serene as he kicks his feet up on his impractically large oak desk and leans back further into his comfortable chair. He was quietly honoured to be one of the chosen people Dimitri felt comfortable enough to share his burdens with. Not that he would ever tell him.

Ingrid tosses a throw cushion at Sylvain’s head as he laughs, her lips twisted with a scowl as she turns to face Dimitri in all earnestness. But not without first throwing a few vicious reprimands his way.

“Shut your damned mouth, Sylvain! Your input wasn’t asked for, so keep your shitty opinions to yourself! Dimitri,” She addresses him with a gentle smile, her hand reaching out to tentatively rest upon his knee in a gesture she hoped was comforting. It has the intended effect, as Dimitri visibly deflates from his ramrod stiff posture, sitting a little more relaxed in himself as he turns to meet Ingrid’s gaze with his own.

“Perhaps the reason you’re so stuck on her is because she left an impression on you? You said she was going through something terribly tough, but was trying her best to pick herself up and get on with it, right? Maybe it was her strength in the face of adversity that spoke to your soul? You haven’t really met many people like that, and being the kind and empathetic person you are, you resonated with the resilience she showed you that day.”

Dimitri pauses to consider Ingrid’s words, mulling over them with a seriousness that makes the usually stern woman smile.

Sylvain contemplates what Ingrid had said as well. She was scarily perceptive, as always. Whilst part of the redhead wanted to blame it on Dimitri finally thinking with his dick instead of his head for once, he knew that that wasn’t the kind of guy he was. He was the kind of man that wore his heart on his sleeve at all times, and was far too sensitive to even believe himself capable of feeling lust for another person. It was wholesome how pure and steadfast Dimitri was when it came to trying to understand himself better, and Sylvain admires that naivety ( _innocence_ ) more than he’d care to admit.

“I suppose that would make sense. I am not terribly accustomed to this, so your guess is as good as mine.”

“Oh _please_ , you aren’t a _saint_ Dimitri, so you can at least be honest with yourself about this. You _fancy_ her. Simple as that.” Sylvain interjects, exasperation oozing through his voice as he abruptly drops his feet to the floor, leaning on the armrest with one arm and propping his chin upon his open palm. He holds up his remaining hand to silence Ingrid, whose mouth falls open to scold him, no doubt.

“You’ve had your turn, honey. I’m tagging in. Now Dimitri, I know you almost as well as you know yourself. I’ve been with you since we were children, and I’ve learned a thing or two about how you tick. For one, when you take a shine to something, you tend to fixate over it. You want to know everything about it, and won’t rest until you have attained mastery or some sense of satisfaction from it.” The red haired man breaks down his analysis with a flourish of his wrist, counting down on his fingers as he gesticulates his point with a well-timed wink at Ingrid.

She sat stupefied, a cocktail of confusion and simmering rage and maybe a little bit of internal fluster bubbling in her stomach. She had never been so simultaneously angry and aroused by being told to basically shut the fuck up.

Sylvain wasn’t typically dismissive, but this time he wasn’t having a lick of her usual reprimanding attitude.

“Secondly, you spend a lot of your downtime overthinking said fixation. Trying to break it down, understand it, understand _yourself_ , and _why_ it is you’re so smitten. That’s where you’re at right now. And lastly, when you want something— or in this case _someone_ — you won’t rest until you’ve made it unequivocally _yours_. Just like the time you got your cat. Your dad’s allergies be damned, you put your foot down and made it happen.” Sylvain chortles, smirking as the colour spreads from Dimitri’s cheeks to his ears and neck.

His assessment was pretty spot on, after all. Being called out on the truth had obviously flustered him, or else he wouldn’t be so clearly affected. Hell, even Ingrid was exhibiting signs of secondhand embarrassment. Dimitri is taken aback. He had never pegged Sylvain as being particularly observant, unless it was about women. Then he was a veritable wealth of information. And yet here he was, picking apart Dimitri as succinctly as writing a shopping list. It had been a mistake to underestimate just how well acquainted Sylvain was with him.

“I... am not sure what to say to that, honestly. You have given me some food for thought. I... thank you, Sylvain.” Dimitri says with a strangely serene expression on his face. Embarrassment aside, he was genuinely appreciative for the realistic assessment of his situation. He had never been one who liked to be coddled, so his relationship with Sylvain, who never sugarcoated anything, had been a refreshing change. Something he needed in his life.

“You’re... welcome? Uh, I wasn’t expecting gratitude for saying what’s on my mind; way to make this weird, Dimitri.” Sylvain exclaims, surprise evident in his eyes and voice. He had just stayed true to his usual obnoxious and cocky self. He wasn’t looking for lip-service or anything. But the genuineness of Dimitri’s expression was enough to quell the redhead’s urge to bury his face in his hands in embarrassment, and he can only rub the back of his neck bashfully in response.

“You know I value you and your opinions, my friend. Clearly you know me better than I ever gave you credit for.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, or sing my praises too much. I might get a big head.”

“Oh like you don’t have a big head already?” Ingrid intervenes smoothly, not missing a beat. Sylvain tosses the throw cushion back at her, but she dodges with ease, both sneering half heartedly at one another. They were all in too good a mood (god knows why) to let petty grudges ruin the atmosphere.

“It’s not the only ‘ _big head_ ’ I’ve got— _fuck_ Ingrid, _ouch_!”

Said woman pelts Sylvain none too gently with the nearest fist sized object, a hefty table weight that had been keeping the redhead’s extensive pile of magazines and leaflets in place on his coffee table. It hits him square in the gut, doubling the damage by landing on his crotch milliseconds later. Brown eyes clenched shut and jaw taut with evident pain, Sylvain reaches down, gingerly cradling his stomach and junk as he keels over in his chair; groaning.

“That’s for being a disgusting pig!” Ingrid spits venomously, cheeks a brilliant crimson as she huffs indignantly. He needed to learn to censor that part of himself one of these days, or she was liable to inflict irreversible damage to him someday down the line.

Dimitri, who had been in the process of sipping his glass of water, promptly choked on the cool liquid, spitting it out haphazardly at the blatant sexual innuendo as he coughed around his own spittle. Why did Sylvain always have to take an irreverent moment and spoil it with such tasteless banter...?

“A pig in the streets, but a dog in the sheets, as they say,” Sylvain retorts through a pained gasp, palming the round heavy object in his hand and using it to shield his face when another pillow came flying his way.

He was a shit-stirrer, what else could he say?

“Do you want to _lose_ the ability to copulate? If so, I’m more than happy to oblige,” Ingrid hisses vehemently, positively burning all over with the intensity of her blush. This man would be the death of her!

“I’d be okay with that if I got to go down ‘going down’, if you get me. Preferably on a hot chick with big tits, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine— _OW_!”  
  
“You’d best hold your tongue, lest I _cut it out_ , Sylvain! You’re treading on some _mighty thin ice_ right now!”

Ingrid throws her water bottle his way, and it hits him in the temple, fast and true to her word of delivering swift justice upon him. He was going to come out of this beaten and bruised, no doubt. Dimitri’s eyes are comically wide for such a handsome face, almost akin to a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic as he observes the once semi-peaceful encounter quickly spiralling into utter chaos. What else did he expect, from his two argumentative friends?

Especially when they happened to be in Sylvain’s _bedroom_ of all places, his veritable throne room where he had notched all of his conquests and hung them up for display. It was more than a little weird, even for Dimitri, who had been privy to more than one incidence of indecency on the brown eyed philanderer’s part. Never here, of course, but in more... _unsavoury_ locations.

The man had no sense of etiquette.

“Alright already, enough with the physical abuse! I yield, I yield!” Sylvain sputters through terse laughter, wiping fake tears from his eyes as he rubs his aching skull with two probing fingers. He’d stirred her up enough for today, and he was gonna regret it once the bruises began to show up.

“You’re damned right you do! I won’t tolerate such boorish behaviour! It’s bad enough that Felix has a filthy mouth and a bad attitude most days, but your sexual antics stop outside the bedroom! None of us want to know, so please keep that shit to yourself, thank you very much!” Ingrid berates him with fire burning in her eyes, voice thin and trembling with barely restrained anger as she stares him down intensely, having stood up to make her point known.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Ingrid. I promise to tether myself in your presence, at least.”

“Not good enough, but I’ll take it. For now.”

A temporary truce at best, but it was appeasement enough for the two of them for the time being.

Dimitri startles when his phone vibrates in his pants pocket, and he is quick to excuse himself so that he can answer the call in private. The caller ID reads “Father.”

“Dimitri speaking. Is everything alright, father? You rarely call while you’re working.”

A resounding chuckle echoes through the receiver.

_“Come now, my boy. No need to be so formal with your old man. I was calling to ask if you will be joining us for dinner tonight.”_

Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, affluent CEO of one of the largest and most profitable companies in the world, was naturally a very busy man. Very rare was it indeed for him to have even a moment to himself, let alone having the time of day to make a phone call to invite someone to dinner. Even if said someone happened to be his own son.

Dimitri was obviously surprised by the casualness of his father’s tone. He was typically very stressed and wound up and as result, and would greet Dimitri quite tersely on particularly bad days at the office. So to have him calling, out of the blue and in a good mood, was an unexpected pleasure.

“I may be a little late, but I will be there. I haven’t seen you and mother in weeks, so I would hate to miss an opportunity to catch up.”

 _“Ah, yes, you have class this evening, correct? How has that been going for you? I hear Jeralt is still quite the ball-buster.”_ Lambert intones with a breathy chuckle, and Dimitri can hear the wry smile in his voice.

His martial arts instructor went a ways back with his father, having trained him in self-defence as well a good twenty five years earlier; and his reputation remained long after Lambert had ceased his learning there.

“Yes, well, things have been going smoothly. We are to learn the proper etiquette and drills to be performed for our black belt examination. The preparation has been long and arduous, but in another month, we should be certified black belts under sensei’s tutelage.”

Terrifying though Jeralt was known to be, and stern enough to intimidate Dimitri to this day, even after over ten years of studying in his dojo, he was a kind and patient man with an infinite well of wisdom to draw from. He was irreverent of the art form he taught, and constantly emphasised his pacifist stance. Martial arts were not meant for encouraging acts of violence, but to promote self-defence and discipline of body and mind in equal measure. Dimitri had taken to that ideology, and flourished as a result. He was one of the top students in his class, and had formed lifelong friendships with a lot of his fellow classmates as a result of his tendency to help perfect their own training.

He loved the freedom of it, strict as the disciplinary arts could be. Loved being a fly on the wall, not sticking out like a sore thumb for being the son and successor of Fhirdiad’s richest man. Loved that everyone treated him as an equal, addressing him frankly by his name rather than by ‘Sir Blaiddyd’ and the like.

_“Ah yes, the infamously gruelling Spartan Sessions. I remember them well. Just... try to not get too big for your breaches, because Jeralt was always quick to snuff out overconfidence with some... unsavoury beatings. Repeatedly. Basically you’ll become his personal punching bag, and I would hate to see you return home black and blue. Because that’s exactly what happened with me when I began certification training.”_

Dimitri laughs, and it is an easy sound to make, lightening the burden in his chest and temporarily wiping his mind of all thoughts other than the here and now— his father’s voice anchoring him to the moment.

“It hardly surprises me that you were too cocky for your own good. You did raise me under the pretence of avoiding such tendencies, after all. And as for sensei, I can easily imagine him putting you in your place. He has done so to me many times before. It’s a rather ungainly sight. I couldn’t walk for a week without limping after that class.”

 _“Hahaha, how time has failed to change that man. Stoic and tough as ever, I see. He was always a stickler for physical reinforcement. Thought that it strengthened character, to be able to take a hit and bounce back from it without so much as flinching. ‘Steel your mind and your body will harden as well. Adaptation is all in the mindset, after all.’ Wiser words have never been spoken.”_ Lambert says, something akin to awe in his voice.

Dimitri, in turn, felt proud to have been taught by a man that was held in such high regard by his father even after so many years had passed. It said more about Jeralt’s character than anything else ever could.

“I have to agree with you. Sensei does have a way of leaving a lasting impression, even if that happens to be with his fists.”

They both laugh simultaneously at that. It was a truth that had been learned by both of their bodies many times _over._

 _“Absolutely. He was never one for— ah, yes, of course. I will be with you momentarily. I must apologise, Dimitri. I’m late for my next meeting, so I shall have to cut this call short.”_ Lambert laments, sounding genuinely put out at the thought of having to leave his son high and dry for work of all things.

Something he had grown painfully used to over the years as his empire expanded and grew to monumental proportions.

“Of course. I will see you and mother tonight. 8 o’clock?”

_“On the dot.”_

Dimitri hangs up, smiling ruefully at the cellular device cradled in his open palm. This small device was the one thing keeping him connected with his family. Even if he still lived at the family estate, his parents were hardly ever there. Between his mother spending six months of the year living in another country, and his father being a tragic workaholic at the best of times, he rarely ever caught a glimpse of them. More often than not, their familial celebrations for conventional family holidays consisted of brief FaceTime calls that were more for preserving the idea of family bonding than actually taking the time to bond in the flesh.

Now he missed simpler times, when everyone was gathered together in one place and happy to be there. Nothing else mattered than being together. What a foreign concept that was now. Every year since he was twelve years old, he had spent festive occasions with either Sylvain’s, or Ingrid’s, or even Felix’s families. He couldn’t recall the last birthday he had shared with both of his parents present.

But he understood better than anyone else that success didn’t come easily, and both of his parents were perfectionists striving to create the perfect life for Dimitri to eventually inherit. He couldn’t be so selfish in wanting to monopolise their time for himself, just because he was feeling lonely. He was an adult now. He had to live for himself.

“Took you long enough. Chatting up your mysterious belle, were you?” Sylvain exclaims mockingly, now sprawled out on his bed languidly as Ingrid flicks through one of his mindless comics from her place on the couch. The tension between them was so thick Dimitri could taste it on the top of his tongue.

“As you are well aware, I have had no contact with her since that day. It was my father.”

Both parties visibly straighten themselves, eyes fixed to the tall blonde’s face as if anticipating a blowout of some sort. When he only smiles, they relax. Usually when Lambert called, it was either to be the bearer of bad tidings, or to boss Dimitri around by playing “the perfect successor” card.

Ingrid and Sylvain both knew how much Dimitri loved and respected his father, and while he was typically kind and benevolent, with an incredibly generous nature, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd could also be an absolute bastard to his son. Stress and anxiety were never an excuse to blatantly abuse his precious child, and yet even amidst the verbal lashings Dimitri had endured over the years, the neglectful nature of his tenuous upbringing had irreparably damaged him— and their relationship.

And the scars still lingered heavily.

Dimitri had always yearned for a family, but was too selfless to put his needs first. Even when they had made it clear to him that he was a part of their families and that he was always welcome in their homes, the blonde had never imposed himself unless it was practically enforced by his friends. He was too fragile a soul for his own good.

“Good news, I take it?” Ingrid quips with a smile of her own, placing the dirty excuse of a comic down like it had burned her fingertips. Why Sylvain read such drivel was beyond her, but since it was borderline pornographic in nature, it didn’t come as a surprise that he had invested in it.

He loved sex, after all.

If she weren’t as perceptive as she was, she would even go so far as to call him a nymphomaniac. Thankfully ( _and she more than anyone else was aware of the irony of that sentiment_ ), he had issues that ran far deeper than that, and sex was his unfortunate outlet for said hang ups.

“Yes indeed. It would seem that I will be dining with both of my parents tonight.”

“That would be a first in, what, how long? Five years?” Sylvain interjects, now sitting with his legs crossed in front of him.

It was hard not to keep count, since Dimitri had had more meals with him at his family home than he had ever had growing up with his own flesh and blood. It was kind of sick, to be honest. He hated that one of his best friends had to endure such apathy from his own parental figures, even though he knew there was love clearly fostered between them. It was frayed at best, but it was there, and the yearning desperation in Dimitri was one of the few things holding those bonds in place.

Family was _everything_ to him. It had been the same for Lambert once as well. But time had changed him, and his priorities had shifted far from home. Far from his only son.

And Sylvain felt the sting of that neglect like it was his own.

“It has been quite some time, yes. Don’t look at me like that, Sylvain, I am alright. This is a happy time, you shouldn’t look so—“

“Annoyed? Dare I say it, _angry_? Well yeah, I can’t really help it, man. You’ve been so hard-done by, it’s not exactly easy for me to be cheery about it. I’m more family to you than _they_ ever were. What right do they have swooping in and stealing you away after all these years of babysitting your mopey arse?”

Sylvain meant it in jest, but there was an undertone of seriousness in his inflection that squeezes at something in Dimitri’s chest. He knew that Sylvain had rather strong feelings about his upbringing, or lack thereof, and had taken it upon himself to be the big brother he had never had. His reaction shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it kind of was.

He hadn’t realised his own familial issues had rubbed off so profoundly on the (clearly affected) redhead.

“I am touched that you are angry on my behalf. I really am, Sylvain. But you needn’t worry. There are no ulterior motives to this meeting other than to make sure I am being well enough fed.” Dimitri laughs, dismissing the wary look Sylvain sends his way.

“If you say so...” He trails off, still clearly unconvinced but at least warming to the idea that Dimitri was genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

Ingrid stands up, collecting her bag after checking the time on her phone and sending a cursory glance towards Sylvain. They share a _Look_.

“While I’d love to stay and chat— _really_ , Sylvain, you’re great company when you’re not cock deep in some chick’s arse— Dimitri and I have a class to attend. In about half an hour. So we’re gonna make like a pea and split. See you later, you horn dog.” Ingrid makes the crudest gesture she can muster, and while Dimitri chokes on his own saliva in response, it draws a bellowing string of laughter out of the red haired man.

Just as she had intended. While she did not relish in resorting to less than savoury methods in order to detract from uncomfortable situations, she had elicited the response she had wanted from them.

Particularly Sylvain.

It was wholly unlike him to look so dejected, downright crestfallen even, and so she made him laugh as only Ingrid Brandl Galatea could.

She deftly ignores the series of fluttering bellyflops her tummy does in response to his musical laughter.

Quickly following suit, Dimitri gathers up his things and makes his way to the door once more.

“Thank you for having us, Sylvain. I’ll be sure to return the favour one of these days.”

Said man merely waves him off dismissively, settling into his impractically large bed for an afternoon siesta.

“Don’t mention it. Smell ya both later.”

“With that B.O.? I think not.”

“Good- _BYE_ , Ingrid.”

The door shuts behind them, leaving him in blissful silence. He dozes, on and off, for twenty minutes, before rolling over and checking his phone.

A picture of the four of them — Felix unwittingly captured in the rare group shot by a sneaky Sylvain — greets his dopey eyes. It had been his wallpaper for years, never once changing even with fling after furious fling. The one thing he truly cherishes above all else. His eyes linger a moment longer on the bright and cheerful countenance of Ingrid, amongst her boys and happy as a pig in mud. Those were simpler times. Now, hormones and adolescence had muddled things up immensely.

He opens his messenger app, hesitates for a split second, before firing off a quick message and switching his phone off for extra measure. He wanted to enjoy his downtime. He rarely slept much these days, between relentlessly fucking his way around town and dealing with an ongoing bout of insomnia so vicious he had forgotten what the inside of his eyelids looked like.

He drifts off in the soothing warmth of his bed.

* * *

Ingrid’s phone vibrates in her hand. Dimitri is driving, talking shop about class with enough vigour that the blonde haired woman is having a hard time keeping up. She takes a moment to peek at the messenger ID, and quirks a curious eyebrow when she notes that it was from Sylvain.

Nodding absently to whatever Dimitri had just asked, Ingrid opens her inbox and clicks into his message.

It reads simply.

.

_From: The Pervert_

_To: The Prude_

_Thank you. 💕_

_._

She finds herself smiling fondly out of the window for the next twenty minutes.

* * *

  
“Alright class, gather around.”

Jeralt's voice is a force of nature, and most everyone complies immediately. A few of the stragglers, namely Dimitri and Felix— who had been up until that point arguing one-sidedly at the other to ‘ _man up and fight me, boar_ ’— stood off to the side of the room. Dimitri was entirely distracted with the discovery that Byleth— the woman whom had up until the very moment he had spotted her face in the crowd, plagued his every waking and sleeping thought alike— was actually _here_ , and not a figment of his overactive imagination.

Felix, as usual, was itching for a fight, and wanted Dimitri to be his punching bag. Despite the animosity between them, they were equally as close to one another as the rest of their group of childhood friends, perhaps even more so. Their healthy rivalry had kept them on relatively good terms, after all.

“Dimitri, Felix!” Jeralt’s voice is a gravelly growl, and both men are quick to correct themselves, painfully aware of their sensei’s infamous temper as they line up and get into their stationary stance. He fixes them both with a look that would melt the chrome off a car, before he tucks his hands behind his back and begins pacing in front of the nervous students. He was even more agitated than usual, which explained the fidgety looks the younger pupils sent his way.

“I want to begin today’s lesson by apologising. I will not be able to oversee your training due to a prior commitment. However,” he pauses then, scanning over the faces of his protégés with a grim smile on his weathered lips. They all shift at the uncomfortable tone Jeralt had set for them.

“I have a more than suitable— perhaps _overqualified_ — replacement to take the helm for the evening. Byleth, if you will.” Jeralt gestures at the dark haired woman across the room from them, and many curious eyes follow his gaze as she takes measured steps towards them.

She is cool and collected, expression blank as she settles alongside her father with a disciplined bow towards him. He returns the gesture, straightening his spine as he returns his attentions to his students.

They all look... confused. He couldn’t blame them. Byleth was still young, after all, not much older than his star students in fact. It was perhaps unexpected to have a teacher of _their_ age group _teaching_ them. But Jeralt knew better than anyone else that to underestimate her would be their first, and last, mistake.

“It’s not often that you are in the presence of someone who has achieved the rank of _godan_ , let alone someone who is only twenty six years old. But Byleth here is my original prodigy pupil, and I can assure you that today, you will be put through your paces. Thoroughly.” He emphasises with a grin that is almost feral.

Everyone gathered display identical looks of awe, and perhaps even slight dread. They had been trained by another sensei who had attained the rank of _shodan_ , which had been impressive in and of itself. They had been significantly older than this woman to boot. But it just didn’t seem feasible that someone so young could be so... lethal.

Clearly Felix didn’t buy it, his expression dubious and blatantly unimpressed by the short and petite woman in front of him. Dimitri can only swallow thickly, mouth suddenly dry at the thought of Felix picking a fight he couldn’t possibly win with the woman he had been pining over for nearly two months now.

Jeralt can clearly see the challenge burning in Felix’s hungry eyes, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing in the young man’s handsome face. The gall of youth these days.

“You have something to say, Felix?”

An olive branch. And like a fool, he takes the bait and stomps it underfoot, dripping with overconfidence.

“Yes, sensei. I do not doubt you when you say that you have found a suitable replacement, but she hardly seems as qualified as you are to lead this class.”

Yikes.

As if to reinforce his standpoint, Felix loosens his stance, hip jutting out defiantly as he dared Byleth to say otherwise with taunting brown eyes. Her expression remains professional, almost icy in its blankness, as she stares up at him with critical eyes. Good form, even when playing at relaxed. Sharp physique, clearly from endless hours of relentless training. Smug and self-assured in his abilities. Oh how she would relish in knocking him off of his high horse.

She casts a fleeting glance at the tall blonde beside him, and swallows her pounding heartbeat with a heavy tongue when she realises that he is staring back just as intensely. _Hoo boy_. She might just be in trouble on that front, if he intended to keep eyeballing her like that.

Jeralt coughs into his hand, subtly obscuring his rising snickers with the sound. This would be entertaining to say the least.

“While I’m flattered at your faith in my abilities, rest assured you have met more than your match in Byleth. In fact, how about a little demonstration of your skill set? I’m sure Felix is itching to test his mettle against the best there is.”

Jeralt baits his daughter with a cunning look her way.

Byleth groans internally, knowing that her father was throwing out the gauntlet to get a rise out of the boy. He knew all too well what she was capable of. He _had_ trained her, after all.

Felix practically vibrates with anticipation, and is quick to accept the bout by making his way to the tatami mats where their weekly training sessions take place. Byleth sighs, shaking her head imperceptibly at her dad as she shrugs off her fancy black overcoat and follows suit. The things he will do for entertainment, even if he denies it and says it’s another learning experience for his students. She knows better.

They go through the typical motions. Bowing, taking their starting stance, and awaiting the call to start the bout. Jeralt raises his hand, his command to ‘ _go_!’ a guttural shout as Byleth kicks into gear, not even giving Felix a chance to move a muscle. Before he even realises it, Byleth has him flipped and thoroughly pinned to the ground, so fast that he would have had whiplash had he even realised he had been thrust through the air so damned quickly in the first place. He is strangely out of breath from the incredibly brief encounter, and sweat begins to bead on his forehead as he realises with a start that he had lost before the fight had ever really had the chance to begin at all.

Strong though he thought himself to be, Byleth is an immovable rock on his back, keeping him locked firmly in place with an ease that is mildly alarming. So this was the difference in strength between them. Felix finds it mildly exhilarating, a rush of adrenaline pumping through his system as Jeralt calls the match and declares its winner.

Byleth removes herself from his person with ease, quick to retract her body from any more unnecessary physical contact. He stands as well, a new appreciative light in his eyes as he watches the dark haired woman saunter off without so much as a look his way. She had proven a far more worthy opponent than he could have ever expected, and suddenly Felix was looking forward to the lessons she had in store for them all.

Dimitri was honestly flabbergasted and more than a little aroused at the sheer level of ease and skill in which Byleth had demonstrated in dispatching of _Felix_ , of all people. They were known to be the two best students in the class, equal in just about every way and extremely proficient at knocking the other students about with their more advanced skill set. She had been there for all of five minutes and had effectively shattered the prideful boasting of a very skilled fighter in less than thirty seconds flat. And that estimate was being overly generous, since he had merely blinked and it was already over.

The other students wore their shock openly, all impressed and terrified at the brief reckoning of Felix Hugo Fraldarius.

Jeralt looked eerily pleased with himself, as if it had been _him_ showing up an overzealous brat with too much testosterone and not nearly enough common sense. Byleth rolls her eyes at that, carefully masking her expression as she turns to face the group of sparkly eyed youths. It seems she had made her mark.

“Now that that little distraction is over with, I will be leaving you all in Byleth’s capable hands. I’ll see all of you back here Thursday night. Train hard and remain vigilant; this one is a bigger ball-breaker than I am. Just ask the blue belts.” Jeralt quips, humour lacing his tone as he nods to his daughter in thanks before departing for his “prior engagement.”

Byleth inhales softly, taking in every face and committing them to memory. She would have to do so in order to help them individually correct their forms and executions. But she can’t help but notice that her eyes linger a little too long on Dimitri for her own comfort.

“Alright. Class is in session.”

* * *

Byleth is a sweaty, flushed mess of limbs by the end of the night.

She had promised them a workout, and _boy_ was it a workout. Half of the students were still heaped on the floor, soaking in their own bodily fluids as they tried and failed to catch their breath. Felix and Dimitri were among the very few still standing, though their exhaustion was evident.

A short woman with blonde hair— she had learned her name was Ingrid— was with them, hands on her knees as she shook perilously in place. She had gone hard and fast and kept the momentum up all session, and quietly Byleth was impressed with her passion. She had kept up admirably with the two boys, whose stamina had even taken her aback initially. If this were a competition for endurance alone, they would definitely take the cake.

And _oh boy_ could Dimitri put up a fight.

Maybe not against her, but put against everyone else throughout her relentless drills? He was an absolute unit. And a pleasure to teach. He absorbed her knowledge like a sponge, applying her technical advice with ease to improve upon his execution immensely. Felix was much the same, and the competitive energy that sparked between them only served to enhance how adeptly they took her teachings on board. Ingrid was no slouch either, knocking them both back much to their surprise with her speed and agility.

Overall it had been an eventful and fruitful night of learning all around, and Byleth was pleased to have played a part in improving their performances for their certification test in a month’s time.

She calls an end to the class, already half an hour overtime at the students insistence to keep on going until they had nailed the first drill.

It was 7:30pm, and she was hungry, hot and bothered by sweating in such close proximity to the man who had gotten her off in her latest dreamscape sexcapade. Frankly embarrassment didn’t do what she was currently feeling in her pants justice, and so she is quick to make her escape, Dorothea waiting for her outside as the cleaners arrive to close up shop for the night.

“Babe, you kicked so much collective arse in there I thought I’d come at the sight. I think I did towards the end. Wanna help me check...?” Dorothea exclaims with a start, wink on her face and a sparkle in her eyes that practically screams sensuality.

But her voice dies in her throat before she can continue, as a resplendently gorgeous man with golden locks silkier than satin approaches the two of them with long, purposeful strides. Thea stops Byleth outside of her car, hand glueing her in place as she stares open mouthed at the Adonis who stops before them. _Holy fuck he was hot._

“Sensei, if I may have a moment of your time?”

Dimitri’s voice is breathless, and from the frazzled state his clothes are currently in — as if he had stripped out of his uniform and dressed on the way towards them— Byleth can only guess he had changed in record time just to see her.

The delicious tingle of butterflies dancing in her tummy registers vaguely in the back of her mind as she turns to face him with flushed cheeks. She’ll just blame it on the cold, if Dorothea asks.

“Of course. Was there something you wanted to ask about your _dan_ certification?”

Dorothea elbows her none too gently in the ribs, miffed at the lack of introductions happening. She hadn’t had the chance to tell the auburn haired woman that this was the man she had dreamt about in such deliciously compromising detail, since her father had all but summoned her after the revelation that her dreamscape booty call was amongst his students. Byleth casually ignores her insistent prodding, focusing all of her attention on the handsome man before her.

“Ah, well, not quite that. Uh, you see...”

Dimitri is incredibly flustered by those hypnotic eyes of hers, both of which burn into his own with the intensity of a raging inferno. It’s like she can see right through him, and it terrifies him how transparent he must seem to her in that moment.

Byleth cocks her head. What else could there possibly be...? Her brain goes straight into the gutter, and she almost yells in surprise as she stuffs the erotic fantasies into the depths of her mind.

“I was wondering if, perhaps, you were agreeable— and please do not take this as anything more than simple curiosity on my part— if you would like to meet for coffee sometime? To discuss... stuff.”

Wow, very eloquent Dimitri. He kicks himself internally, almost hearing Sylvain’s pained gasping laughter in the back of his mind as he fumbles over his words with uncharacteristic nervousness. He had no prior experience asking anyone out to draw from, and clearly from the dumbfounded expression on Byleth’s face, it was obvious he had been tactless. He had blown his only chance, clearly.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Or not.

Dimitri openly gapes a little in surprise, jaw slack as she gazes up at him with a timid, almost shy, smile of her own. It was so slight it could have been his overactive imagination playing tricks on him, but it had been there and his heart soars at the revelation that he had been the one to put it there.

Byleth is sure her heart is about to kick into overdrive. The man she had been so sure she would never see again was not only closer than she could have ever imagined, but he was standing before her now, asking her out? On what she could only assume was a tentative date? Wow. This was... very unexpected. She had agreed impulsively, before she could take the words back, but the way his face lit up like a beacon at her response was enough to squash any semblance of regret she had felt in voicing them.

She had only listened to her gut, after all, which had been screaming at her to take the plunge. She had moped for long enough over her ex. It was time to take the very first step towards regaining her independence and confidence. And if that happened to be through going out on a first date for the first time in over three years with this gorgeous specimen of a man, then so be it.

( _Psh, like it was even in question to begin with. Byleth was weak for that disarming smile and those deeply charismatic eyes of his.)_

“O-Oh, I see! Well, I suppose it would be remiss of me to not take the opportunity to give you my number this time around. I would hate to go so long between encounters.” Dimitri exclaims, eyes bright and expression exuding a blissful kind of radiance that only a man like him could pull off without seeming overwhelming or downright creepy.

He takes out a pen and card from his wallet, quickly scrawling his digits down with hypnotically precise and neat handwriting. Byleth can’t help but fixate on those beautiful hands of his. He has an artists hands, that’s for sure. He tucks his wallet back in his duffel bag, handing her the crisp white card with delicate fingers.

She takes it blindly, eyes locked with his as he sends her a winning smile that has her ovaries pole-vaulting against her insides. Dimitri takes her palm in his, raising her arm gently and pressing his lips against the back of her small hand, with a tenderness that has Byleth forgetting to breathe.

“Until next we meet. I look forward to it.”

Byleth nods dumbly in his direction as he slowly pulls away, smiling politely at the woman clinging to Byleth’s elbow before he makes his exit. He had a dinner to attend and a date to plan, after all.

Dorothea is quick to snatch the card from her friend’s loose grip once Dimitri is well and truly out of sight, scanning the details with hungry eyes.

“Oh my god, that was him, wasn’t it. Puppy daddy.” It wasn’t a question. Dorothea knew without needing confirmation.

It was written plain as day on Byleth’s face. She squeals then, throwing her arms around her bestie’s shoulders and giving them a taut squeeze. She was inexplicably happy for her.

“Byleth, you _naughty_ girl! I know you said he was hot— and I mean you fucked _me_ , so _clearly_ you have a refined palette— but you didn’t mention that he looks like he was sculpted by _Michelangelo_ himself. That’s just _rude_.” Dorothea exclaims tartly, her voice high and clearly aroused. It never took much to get her wound up, but this was new.

She sounded almost envious of Byleth, landing someone so obviously classy as he was attractive. But that seeps away quickly, overridden by Dorothea’s renewed zest. That was never a good sign.

“Well I guess it’s up to me to squeeze you into a dress so tight he won’t even have to rip it off of you to get it off; your bountiful curves will do all that work for you.”

Thea winks then, and it is the expression of a minx cornering her prey. Byleth swallows.

Well fuck.

* * *

  
**Ending Remarks:** _Stuff is finally moving and shaking folks._

_Stay tuned for more dumb fluff and feelings, and maybe even some side-character porn? Who knows...?_


End file.
